An Ill Wind That Blows
by Alipeeps
Summary: Challenge fic, Elements prompt. Sheppard and team run into trouble when the weather turns bad. Team fic. Shep whumpage.
1. Prologue

_Written for the Sheppard HC LJ challenge using the prompt "elements", this is a short fic that turned into something of an epic. Unusually for me, I have planned out this fic in advance and have held off from posting it until I have it mostly written. Updates will therefore – stand back in amazement! – be quick and regular as the first two main chapters are already written and the third (and hopefully final) is in progress._

_This fic is something of a departure for me in that, instead of diving straight into the action, I have made more of an attempt to build the story up slowly… hence there is more of a team fic feel to this one. I'd be interested to know what people think of this attempt at a new style so all feedback and constructive criticism, as ever, gratefully received.

* * *

_

The noise was unlike anything he had ever heard.

The wind didn't just gust and shriek like in bad storms he'd experienced back on Earth; it roared and growled. The noise was deep and angry and absolutely terrifying. He huddled in the gloom, bodies packed in tightly around him, and listened to the wind stalk them, rattling and shaking the buildings above, snarling its discontent at being robbed of its prey.

The faces around him were pale, pinched with fear and dreadful anticipation. They huddled together in the darkness, hunched over, instinctively cringing from the howling noise above, the imminent threat of violent destruction. He found himself flinching along with them as something crashed loudly overhead; the roar of the wind was so close, so loud, that he fought the urge to cover his ears.

His heart was racing, fear and adrenalin singing in his veins. He was surrounded by people, crushed together in this small, cramped space, and yet he'd never felt more alone. Alone and terrified. He wished desperately that his team – his friends – were with him. As scared as he was, as much as the awful tempest raging outside made him fear for his life, the overriding concern that tightened his chest and made it hard to breathe was for his friends; for the first time in his life, he understood what people meant when they said that the worst thing was not knowing.

He felt utterly helpless, trapped here with a group of strangers in a dark, noisy room, hot and stale with the smell of sweat and fear. He looked around him at the frightened faces and didn't recognise a single one. None of the council members were in this shelter; it was just he and a group of terrified villagers. Even the burly young man who had grabbed him on the street, pulling him unwillingly down the rough-hewn stone steps into hot, stuffy darkness, was a stranger to him.

He'd last seen Ronon and Teyla running for a shelter further down the street, the tall Satedan towering above the crowd of panicked villagers as they were swept along, his long dreadlocks whipping viciously in the building wind.

And Sheppard? His last sight before he'd been dragged to the relative safety of the shelter had been of Sheppard running into a building at the far end of the street. He'd shouted – screamed even – after him but the vicious wind had ripped the words from his lips, spiralling them away into nothingness. He doubted Sheppard had even heard him.

The wind shrieked and thrummed and the building overhead creaked ominously. A woman nearby clutched her child to her legs and whimpered, turning her face fearfully from the rough ceiling that was all that stood between them and the awesome force of the storm.

He had no idea how much time had passed, how long he'd been trapped here in the crowded shelter. The unwelcome press of bodies all around him only added to his discomfort, his desperate impatience to get out of here, to find his friends. He could feel the beginnings of claustrophobia pulling at him, a flutter of panic building in his chest, when suddenly, without warning, the awful, dreadful noise simply stopped.

The vicious, hungry growl just died away and the sudden absence of noise seemed almost as loud as the noise itself. They were left in hushed silence, the frightened, huddled people in the shelter staring up at the ceiling in fear and desperate hope, holding their breath as they wondered was it really, truly over? In the oppressive silence of the aftermath, Rodney fancied he could hear his own heart pounding, his pulse thundering in his ears as a welter of emotions – relief, anger, impatience, fear – flooded through him. The building above them creaked and settled, breaking the silence, and the sense of hushed tension in the shelter snapped, noise welling up as the spell of silence was broken, a babble of voices raised in thanks, in panic, in relief, in sobs.

He was one of the first to emerge from the shelter.

It was like stepping into a different world. The bustling, colourful village that they had arrived in just a few short hours ago was gone. In its place stood a battered, desolate place, a ghost town of empty streets and ruined buildings. Shattered glass littered the streets, debris cracking underfoot as he stumbled disbelievingly out into the bright, glaring light of a clear blue sky. Somewhere in the distance a child was crying.

He was snapped out of his daze by a sharp cracking sound and he spun on his heel to see the building under which he had been sheltering shift and settle, timbers groaning in protest. There were shrieks and urgently raised voices as the villagers staggering out of the underground shelter panicked and rushed to get everyone out. Rodney stared at the building in disbelief; the wood and tile roof was completely gone. Every window was shattered, the empty frames cracked and bent, the bare windows like ragged wounds in the sagging face of the building. The smooth plaster front of the edifice was cracked and crumbling, large chunks littering the dirt street at his feet, the rough stone construction showing through gaping holes. The entire house was listing slightly to one side and, even as he watched, it creaked and moved and settled again, dust rising into the air as the panicked villagers tripped over each other in their haste to escape the shelter below.

He stumbled backwards, away from the unsteady building, feeling equally off-balance. He felt strangely numb, stunned by the devastation all around him, by the sheer force of destruction that had ripped through this quiet town, and by the realisation of just how close he had come to ugly, growling death.

"Rodney!"

He felt his heart almost stop with relief at the familiar voice and he turned to see Teyla breaking away from a group of villagers emerging from another shelter, Ronon at her side. He moved to meet them, his legs feeling oddly shaky under him.

They came together in the middle of the debris-strewn street and for one brief moment he could have hugged them. Teyla's expressive face showed the same relief that made him feel almost light-headed, her wide smile tinged with concern as she looked him over. "You are unhurt?"

He nodded shakily and his voice cracked when he tried to speak. "I'm fine. I'm okay. You guys?"

"We're good." Ronon's voice was tight, impatient, and his eyes were scanning the wreckage of the village as he asked, "Where's Sheppard?"

"Oh, god!" The relief at finding his team mates alive and unharmed drained from him in a flash as the dreadful fear he had endured in the shelter flooded back, ripping him out of his shocked numbness.

"He went.." He spun around, trying to find his bearings in the ruins of the village. "He ran that way and went into…"

He gestured down the street where he'd last seen Sheppard and his words faltered as he realised that the building into which he'd seen Sheppard disappear was no longer there. Where once had stood a sturdy, two-storey, stone-built house now lay a twisted pile of rubble.

"Oh, no…"

* * *

_TBC..._


	2. Chapter 2

_3 hours earlier…_

MF6-Y8G was a pleasant enough planet. It looked much like any of the other worlds they had visited; green and verdant, though tending more towards wide open plains than the heavy forestation they found on many of their trips through the stargate. They arrived to glorious sunshine and clear blue skies. The day was warm, the breeze cool and fresh, and even McKay stopped and looked up from his equipment to appreciate what was, by any standards, a beautiful summer's day.

"Oh great. D'you have any idea how high the pollen count gets on days like this?"

Sheppard regarded McKay's irritable frown with a mixture of mild disbelief and amusement, shaking his head in bemusement as he turned to Ronon.

"Teyla and I'll take point, you cover our six. Rodney!"

The scientist looked up distractedly, his attention having returned immediately to his instruments.

"We're moving out. Anything?"

McKay sighed and shoved his handheld scanner into a pocket on his tac vest in disgust. "Nothing. No energy signatures, no sign of any advanced technology."

Sheppard nodded. "Okay. Well, Teyla's people know the Tarins by reputation as good traders. With any luck, we may be able to make some new friends." He gave an unrepentant grin in response to McKay unenthusiastic scowl. "Let's go make nice with the locals."

The Stargate was set on a raised stone dias, surrounded by open grassland. There were a few clumps of trees off to the west but in every other direction, as far as the eye could see, the land was generally flat and empty; rolling plains of long grass, the soft summer breeze bending the waving stalks so that great, undulating ripples flowed across the surface of the plains. John was immediately reminded of summer holidays spent with his aunt and uncle on their ranch in the mid-West. They were good memories and, between that and the pleasant weather, he found himself smiling, his mood positive, as he and Teyla lead the team out, following a beaten dirt track that cut through the fields of swaying grass.

The sun was warm on his face as they walked, he and Teyla chatting idly about what she knew of the Tarins. She had never traded with them herself but her father had spoken of them and Halling also had heard good things of them from other trading partners. It was a beautiful day to be out walking and he found himself relaxing a little as the black fabric of his uniform t-shirt soaked up heat of the afternoon sun, the mild breeze enough to keep him pleasantly cool. Relaxed or not, his eyes never stopped scanning their surroundings as he walked, even as he laughed and chatted with Teyla. Pleasant though this world may seem, it was a new environment, unproven, unknown to them. The rolling plains of long grass, waist-high in places, were more than enough cover for anyone who wanted to sneak up on them and his grip on his P90 was firm, ready.

"Seriously, is there any good reason why we couldn't have come by jumper?" John twisted as he walked, finding McKay stomping along behind them, Ronon bringing up the rear, his pistol dangling loosely in his hand, his grip deceptively loose and casual. Sheppard knew from experience that the Satedan's seemingly relaxed pose was anything but. If trouble came, Ronon would be ready; hell, he'd probably be the first to spot it.

McKay's face was scrunched into a scowl of displeasure, his hand held up to his face to shade his eyes as he squinted against the bright sunlight. John grinned as he gave the complaining scientist a quick once-over; he wasn't sweating overmuch, wasn't even out of breath. McKay was a lot fitter than he thought he was; certainly much fitter than he had been when they'd first arrived in Pegasus. Two and a bit years of off-world missions was bound to build some muscle and increase stamina, even if you did nothing else to try and keep in shape. He'd yet to convince McKay that coffee and cake were not food groups in and of themselves.

He let Teyla be the one to explain to Rodney that the Tarins were an uncomplicated people, unused to such technology, and that arriving in a spaceship might unduly alarm them. He'd had this same discussion with the impatient physicist a hundred times over but he couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips as he listened distractedly to Rodney's tirade of displeasure – "Just because these people are backward, I don't see why I should have to endure a forced march in order to visit their backwater hamlet. We could have flown in cloaked and parked nearby…" – A mission wouldn't be a mission without Rodney complaining about something.

As they left the Stargate far behind them the landscape began to change. Rolling plains of wild grass gave way to cultivated fields neatly bordered with low hedges and what looked to be man-made irrigation ditches. John could see at least 5 different types of crop in the fields that bordered the rough track they were following and over to the East, near a cluster of study-looking buildings that appeared to be a small farm, some kind of four-legged, bovine-type animals grazed in a large pasture. It all looked very rural, very domestic. It really did remind him of Uncle Mike's ranch back on Earth – the thought brought a smile to his face as he couldn't help thinking to himself, "Guess we're not in Kansas anymore."

He could still hear McKay muttering away to himself in the background, complaining that the sun was too hot, the breeze too cold and the village too damn far away from the Stargate, and the image of the tin man popped unbidden into his head. He grinned as he walked, long strides eating up the miles. Of course, Ronon would have to be the lion – though he'd better not mention anything to the Satedan about the whole cowardly thing – and Teyla, obviously, was Dorothy. That left him as the scarecrow, needing… a brain. McKay would probably be the first to agree with that assessment, he mused, glancing over his shoulder at his team. McKay looked up and, catching him staring, favoured him with an ill-humoured glare. For a brief moment he couldn't help picturing Rodney's scowling face painted silver and with an upturned funnel on his head. He really couldn't help the grin that spread across his face and the more Rodney scowled at him, the wider it got. He turned his attention back to the front as McKay's offended "What?!" floated in the warm summer air.

They had passed by acres of cultivated land and seen in the distance several outlying groups of farm buildings before the main village came into sight. On first glance, the Tarins' village differed greatly from most of the other settlements that they had visited. Many of the inhabitants of the Pegasus galaxy were, like Teyla's people, nomadic by nature, their homes sturdy but essentially temporary, built of wood and canvas to afford easy relocation from one place to another. It was a lifestyle built of necessity, of survival. It gave them just a little bit more chance to avoid the wraith if they were not always to be found in the same place. Of course, when it came down to it, no matter where you ran, the Wraith would find you sooner or later. But any advantage, no matter how small, was something to hold onto when you lived under the constant threat of Wraith cullings.

The Tarins were obviously an agrarian society yet Sheppard's team had visited those before too – John thought with distaste of the Genii and the simple farmer-folk facade they had displayed to outsiders – yet there again the buildings, though more permanent than those of predominantly hunting communities like the Athosians, were built mostly of wood. The Tarin village, by contrast, was entirely stone built, the buildings squat and solid with thick walls. As they drew closer to the outskirts of the village, John revised that opinion. These buildings were not just solidly built, they were reinforced. There were external buttresses and heavy cornices, the walls were thick and the windows small. He found himself frowning, his grip tightening a touch on his P-90 as he wondered what kind of danger would have a community of farmers build themselves essentially a fortified town.

They were greeted warmly as they entered the village, people waving and calling greetings as they passed, a small group of children gathering excitedly around them, running ahead of them as they walked. The people were friendly, dressed in brightly coloured clothes, and the sturdily built, fortressed houses were cheerfully painted, the heavy stone construction dressed in smooth plaster and painted in warm shades. It made no sense to Sheppard and it made him nervous; the town was built as though to withstand an attack and yet the people seemed to have no expectation of danger, welcoming strangers into their midst with no apparent suspicion or concern.

He could read the same concern on Ronon's face, knew the tall warrior had seen the same signs as he in the peculiar construction of the village and had drawn similar conclusions. McKay was busy shooing away the hovering children, a look of distaste on his face, whilst Teyla, ever the ambassador, was exchanging smiles with the locals and responding tolerantly to the babble of conversation from the excited children. He noticed however that her hands stayed firmly on her P-90 even as she laughed and smiled.

"Welcome! Welcome!"

John turned sharply at the sudden cry, consciously loosening his wary grip on his P-90 as a well-dressed man in perhaps his early fifties hurried a little breathlessly towards them. He took a moment to study the man as he approached; he was of average height with a pleasant, open face, his skin, like that of most of the villagers they had seen, tanned dark as though he habitually spent much of his days outdoors. His clothing was of good quality, the fabrics rich and embroidered, and he moved with the strong stride of a man well used to physical exertion. His face was split in a wide, genuine smile and John found himself smiling in return; the man's good humour was infectious.

"Welcome to Tarin, friends!" He opened his arms wide in greeting as he reached them, bobbing his head in an odd gesture which Teyla instinctively and gracefully returned. The man's smile grew even wider, if that were possible, and John realised belatedly that the head-bob had been a form of greeting; the Tarin version of the Athosian head touching thing perhaps? He never stopped finding reasons to be grateful that he had Teyla on his team.

"You are come to trade?" Their host's face was open and expressive, every emotion displayed for all to see. John read hopefulness in his features, genuine interest and friendship. He allowed himself to relax a little.

"Yes, sir," he responded politely. "We're looking for trading partners.. and hopefully friends. My name's John Sheppard, this is Dr Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex and Teyla Emmagen."

Watching the man's face closely, John saw the flicker of reaction to Teyla's name and the man became even more animated. "Ah, forgive me, friends! In my haste to greet you I neglected to even introduce myself," the man laughed. "I am Enir, leader of the Council of Tarin. You are most welcome in our village."

He turned quickly to Teyla, his eyes alive with interest, "Forgive me, Teyla Emmagen, but would you be daughter to Tagan Emmagen, of Athos?"

Sheppard watched, bemused, as Teyla's smile showed her pleased surprise. "Why, yes! Did you know my father?"

Enir was practically beaming as regarded them. "Then you are doubly welcome, my friends. The Athosians have been known to us for many cycles as good people and fair traders. I traded with your father when I was but a young man myself, Teyla, and he spoke often of his daughter, of her strength and courage.. and yet not of her beauty." He winked theatrically and Teyla laughed easily, enjoying the older man's charm.

"You are too kind, Councillor Enir," she acknowledged with a teasing smile.

"But I forget myself! Come, come, friends – you must meet with the Council. There is much to discuss," With a wave of his arms, Enir ushered them forward, indicating a large building in the centre of the main street. Sheppard allowed Teyla and Rodney to precede him, leaving Ronon and he to bring up the rear. He noticed the Satedan had holstered his pistol but his hand still rested upon the weapon as he walked. As friendly and welcoming as Enir seemed, Sheppard too shared Ronon's continued wariness. There were things about this village that didn't make sense, things that needed explanation before John could really begin to relax his guard.

The hurriedly gathered Council members were just as eager and friendly as Erin. Sheppard and his team were offered refreshments and treated like honoured guests; the Tarins seemed to be a genuinely warm and friendly people, eager to trade and make alliances with new peoples. "So why all the fortification?" Sheppard couldn't help wondering as he sat with his team at a wide wooden table in the Council chambers.

"And what of your father, Teyla? It has been many cycles since we have traded with the Athosians.." Gilda, a motherly woman in her mid-forties, her greying hair pinned up into an elaborate arrangement at the nape of her neck, chatted warmly as she offered them cups of hot, spiced tea.

Teyla's smile was tinged with sadness as she replied, "Sadly, my father was lost to the Wraith many cycles ago." There were murmurs of sympathy from the gathered Council members, their solemn acceptance of the inevitability of the Wraith cullings a familiar feature of life in the Pegasus galaxy. With a gesture to her companions, Teyla explained, "Athos itself was destroyed by the Wraith some time ago; Colonel Sheppard and his people rescued us, provided us shelter. My people have a new home now and we continue to trade and prosper." She smiled warmly around the table.

"That is good to hear," declared another man as he sipped his tea. "We had wondered what had become of the Athosians. Your people have long been respected allies of the Tarins."

As the pleasantries and get-to-know-yous wound down into serious negotiations, Sheppard allowed his mind to wander. This kind of thing wasn't really his forte; he was happy to make nice and get to know folks but the whole negotiation bit was really much more Teyla's cup of tea than his. He let his gaze wander the room idly, instinctively picking up on details that might escape a less observant eye. The stone walls were dressed with smooth plaster on the inside too, painted in soft, earthy tones that gave the interior a warm and welcoming feel. Woven tapestries and hangings decorated the walls, making the large Council chamber seem homey, almost cosy. From what Teyla had told him, the Tarins were well known as traders and this farming community had been in existence for a long time. Yet the Council building, to John's eyes, showed signs of fairly recent construction. From the condition of the walls, the evidence of patching of the plaster here and there, the pattern of wear on the stone-flagged floor, he would guess that this building had been standing for no more than 15 to 20 years. Thinking back on it, much of the town he had seen had looked of a similar age; there had been very few buildings that showed any real sign of aging or repair. Either the Tarins were meticulous in their upkeep of every aspect of their village or something had happened 15 to 20 years ago to make them rebuild. Perhaps the same thing that had made them fortify their houses, he wondered…

His gaze wandered over his team mates; Teyla was talking animatedly with Enir and two of the other Councillors, the rest of the group listening with interest as she described the medicines and technological assistance they could provide in return for grain and fresh meat. Rodney looked utterly bored, reluctance written across his face as Teyla drew him into her conversation to explain some of the technology that could increase the Tarins' crop yield. Ronon was still and silent; he seemed relaxed but John could tell that his attention was focused entirely on the Tarin Council members, watching their every movement with a cautious eye.

One of the elder Councillors asked John a question and he found himself pulled into the negotiations, offering a little – strategically inconsequential – information about his people and their history, explaining some of the medications they could offer in trade and how they could help the Tarins. Time passed quickly and by the time he'd drunk two cups of the Tarins' spiced tea, they had hammered out the basics of a trade agreement. Everyone was happy and smiling, even Rodney, though John suspected his happiness was grounded upon the possibility of negotiations drawing to a close some time very soon, and the Tarins were pleased to have made new friends of the Lantians. It was Gilda who suggested that they take a tour of the village, see more of the community that their medicine and technology would benefit, and John's first instinct to politely decline was overruled by the significant look Teyla sent him before he could even open his mouth and by the sight of an expression of horrified reluctance on McKay's face. With a wide smile, John summoned all his charm and told Gilda that he and his team would be delighted to accept. The glare that McKay sent him across the width of the table made it all worthwhile.

The village was quite extensive, with several interconnecting streets branching off the main thoroughfare, each of them lined with more of the oddly contrasting buildings; brightly coloured, cheerful coatings on solid, fortified construction. The sun still shone warmly in a clear blue sky and Gilda was an entertaining and informative guide, taking great pride in showing them the mechanics of their farming community – the blacksmith, the grain store, even a water-powered mill – together with the infrastructure of the village. They had a small school where the village children were taught basic lettering, along with the practical crafts and skills that would assure their contribution to the village's future, and even a small building dedicated to use as an infirmary. It was a beautiful day to be out walking in the countryside and John found that, despite his initial reservations, he was enjoying himself, his thoughts wandering once again back to long, lazy summer days in Kansas.

As they finished up the tour back at the Council Hall, John was starting to feel unaccountably uncomfortable and he realised belatedly that there was a reason why he was reminded so forcibly of his Uncle's ranch. There was a certain something in the air, a kind of charge that tickled at his memory, telling him that he knew this, he recognised this. The sun was still high in the sky but he suddenly felt cold, a shiver running through him. He looked around. The crowd of Council members, villagers and children that had accompanied them on the tour were laughing and talking, Teyla in the thick of it, even Ronon smiling tolerantly. Rodney looked fed up but then, this was Rodney.. No-one else seemed to have picked up on whatever was bothering him.

He shaded his eyes to gaze up at the sky. Not a cloud in sight.. and yet..

Something seemed different to him, seemed somehow off. He pulled off his shades and looked up once again, squinting against the bright sunlight. Was he just imagining it or was there a yellowish cast to the sky? He shivered again, feeling a sudden gust of wind ruffle his hair. Now that he didn't imagine. He looked back at the laughing crowd of villagers and back at the sky. He wasn't imagining that yellow tinge either.

Absorbed in his thoughts, he drifted away from the crowd, craning his neck to stare at the sky as his steps took him out into the middle of the main street. For a moment he stood alone, gazing upwards, and then he felt a presence at his shoulder.

"Problem?" Ronon asked briefly.

Still staring upwards, John answered distractedly, his attention focused on the odd feeling that he just couldn't shake. "I dunno," he murmured. "Something's not…"

His words trailed off as, in an instant, the vague feeling coalesced sharply into recognition, into understanding. He snapped his head around to look at Ronon just as a sudden breath of wind lifted his friend's dreadlocks from his shoulders. With a growing sensation of dread lying heavy in his stomach, John turned to look at the buttresses shoring up the solid stone walls of the Council Hall and then back at the slowly darkening sky above the southern horizon. In the distance, a field of tall crops bowed and rippled as a strong wind washed across its surface.

"Sheppard?"

"Oh, no…"

Praying that he was wrong, telling himself that this was an alien planet in another galaxy and the weather systems were bound to work entirely differently here and that he was worrying needlessly, John turned on his heel and jogged urgently over to the chattering crowd, pushing through the throng, ignoring Teyla's look of concern, to pull Enir quietly to the side.

"John Sheppard. Is.. is something wrong?" The Councillor was quick to pick up on John's change in demeanour, the growing sense of urgency that made his question come out quicker and harsher than he'd intended.

"Enir, your houses, this village – why do you fortify them?"

"Fortify?" Enir was confused, as much by the sudden intensity of John's mood as by the question.

"The buttresses." John pointed at the stout sloping stanchions supporting the Council Hall. "You build your houses strong, solid, with buttresses to support the walls. Why?"

He saw understanding grow in the other man's eyes and Enir's face was grave as he replied seriously, "The roundwind."

John's heart sank into his boots.

"Roundwind? What's that?" Rodney, hovering nearby, had picked up on their conversation and his voice carried. Suddenly the crowd of people was alive with babble, some people looking fearfully about them, some voices risen high with fear, "Roundwind? Roundwind comes?", and still others rushing to tell their tales to the visitors.

"It comes in summer when the air is hot and dry," a young woman told Teyla earnestly, her eyes wide.

"It destroys everything in its path," cried a fearful voice.

"Sometimes as wide as the Council Hall and reaching up as far as the eye can see!" a child babbled excitedly.

John tuned out the chatter of voices and turned to Enir to confirm his worst fears. "We build our houses strong, John Sheppard, to withstand the roundwind."

Shit. He could feel it now, thrumming through his body like electricity. The anticipation, the charge in the air; the knowledge of the storm to come. He looked around at the village, at the brightly coloured houses and the farm-folk in their embroidered clothing, the children laughing and chattering in the street, and up at the yellow-tinged sky. He grabbed the Councillor by the shoulders. "Enir," he urged, "you have to get everyone inside."

The man's face betrayed his shock, his confusion. "What?"

"It's coming, Enir. Roundwind is coming."

"What's a roundwind?" McKay was frowning now, Teyla and Ronon sharing an uncertain look. They didn't understand; they didn't see the signs.

"Think about it, McKay!" he snapped. "We're standing in the middle of wide-open plains, nothing but grassland for miles and miles, just like in the mid-west of America. The plains breed odd weather systems, Rodney. These people build fortified houses and they live in the middle of the grasslands and the roundwind comes in the summer months… They're talking about _tornadoes_, McKay!"

Ronon and Teyla may not have been familiar with the word but they gathered enough from Rodney's horrified expression to realise that John's fears were not something to be taken lightly. The excited chatter of the crowd had died down as John's voice had risen and now the children were silent, unease on the villagers' faces as they turned to Enir for guidance.

The Councillor tried to reassure them, explaining to John, "We build our houses strong as a precaution, John Sheppard, but the roundwind breeds out on the plains. It is rare that one ever approaches the village.."

John shook his head stubbornly. "It's coming, Enir. You have to get your people to safety."

Enir's face was doubtful and he opened his mouth to disagree when a sudden gust of wind swept down the main street, rattling windows and whipping hair and clothes as it passed. It was gone in an instant but in that moment it seemed the sky had abruptly darkened and Enir's gaze met John's in shared realisation and horror. For a long drawn-out second, it seemed to John that time slowed down and that moment of heart-stopping fear stretched out into an eternity. Then time sped up and everything was chaos as Enir turned and bellowed at the top of his voice, "Roundwind!! Everyone to the shelters! Roundwind comes!!"

People screamed, children cried and villagers ran in panic, the crowd scattering in an instant. From behind the Council Hall a bell began to clang loudly, warning the village. Voices carried the message from street to street, "Roundwind! Roundwind comes!!" The wind picked up again, carrying the panicked voices aloft, whipping through the streets and buffeting the villagers.

Enir's richly embroidered clothes fluttered around him as he turned to Sheppard and his team. "Come. We must take shelter!!" The streets were emptying around them, villagers running in every direction, and up and down the street Sheppard could see burly young men throwing open sets of heavy wooden doors built into the foundations of buildings, beckoning to the terrified villagers who, one by one, in groups of twos and threes, began to stream between the reinforced doors, disappearing downwards and out of view. Storm shelters, he realised. They had built underground storm shelters.

"Come, John Sheppard!" Gilda was at his side, her hand on his arm urging him forward, and he and his team followed a small cluster of Councillors down the main street, heading towards the nearest shelter. The wind pushed at them as they ran, like a hot gust of breath pressing down on them. John pushed aside the fear that threatened to choke him and matched his pace to Rodney's, a hand on the scientist's shoulder pushing him along. Teyla and Ronon were a just few feet in front of him, the Satedan helping to support an elderly Councillor as the man stumbled. The light seemed to drain from the afternoon sky and John chanced a look over his shoulder to see that the sky to the south had turned black, heavy clouds swirling in the sky. The wind picked up dust from the dirt street and flung it into his face and he coughed, blinking his eyes as he turned back to the front.

The streets were almost empty now, all up down the street the last stragglers disappearing from sight, heavy doors slamming as the shelters were closed and the doors secured from the inside. The open doors to the shelter were close, the young man assigned to be guardian of that shelter beckoning them onward urgently. John heard, felt in his bones, something like a deep rumbling growl, as if an angry predator had awoken, and, unwillingly, he slowed his step and turned his head in time to see the funnel form from the gathering clouds, dropping slowly, almost elegantly, down to earth to touch ground south of the village. In an instant the lower half of the twister was lost from view as a spray of debris was kicked up into the air, the tornado tearing through crop fields as it approached the town.

"Sheppard! Come on!"

He realised with surprise that he'd stopped running, was standing in the street like a fool, mesmerised by the approaching destruction. He turned to find Rodney waiting for him, hunched against the sting of the growing wind, gesturing frantically for him to get a move on. Beyond him, Ronon and Teyla were swept along with the group of Councillors, each of them helping to support a frightened villager as they disappeared down the steps into the shelter. As John ran to follow them, a high, frightened wail whipped by on the wind and he spun around frantically, searching for the source of the sound.

There. Behind him, down by the school. A small child, standing alone in the street, tears running down her face as she looked helplessly around her. All the nearby shelter doors were all closed. Behind the child, the tornado grew in size as it chewed through field after field of crops, rapidly bearing down on the village. He didn't have time to think; he was acting on instinct, his feet moving almost before he realised he was running, sprinting back down the street towards the terrified child. The guardian of an open shelter yelled at him as he ran past, gesturing frantically for him to come in, and he thought for a moment that he heard McKay calling his name.

The street seemed to have stretched to twice its normal length and the twister rose and grew and towered over him as he ran straight towards it. The wind was howling now, dust and grit stinging his eyes and burning his skin. He could hear the low, angry rumble of the vortex as it spun inexorably towards the defenceless village. He didn't stop running as he reached the child, simply snatched her into his arms and kept moving, cradling her to his chest as he ran. He knew without looking that the shelter doors were closed and barred; there was no time to turn and run back, the beast was already upon them.

He ducked into the nearest building, instinct guiding him into a downstairs room where he skidded across the floor, flinging himself and the child into a corner, dropping to his knees to shelter her with his body as his ears popped and the pressure dropped. He pressed himself into the wall, the child keening and wailing against his chest as the door ripped open and a raging wind tore through the room. The next instant, the full force of the storm hit and he knew nothing more.

* * *

_TBC..._


	3. Chapter 3

_Apols for the longer than expected delay in getting this updated... I got distracted by real life - in the form of a weekend in London meeting Joe Flanigan at the MCM Expo! sighs happily Now if that ain't a good excuse for not updating... ;)_

_At least one more chapter to follow after this... possibly two.. this story just seems to keep on going..._

* * *

Rodney couldn't breathe. It felt like there was a solid, icy lump in his chest, as though his heart had frozen solid. A tight band of pressure was squeezing him, stealing the very air from his lungs. His legs shook under him as he ran down the street, barely controlled panic warring with a terrible, numbing fear.

He stumbled to a halt at the foot of a pile of rubble; shattered stone and wood and tile that used to be a building. The extent of the destruction awed and dismayed him and he found himself simply staring helplessly at the remains of the house; parts of the outer wall of the building were all that remained intact, a corner here, the edge of a doorframe there. The rest of the structure had been ripped apart, the remains of the upper floor and roof collapsing inwards in a tumble of heavy masonry and chiselled stone. He felt a wave of despair wash through him; he couldn't honestly see how anyone could have survived this.

Ronon had gotten there ahead of him and was already clambering impatiently up the heaped pile of debris, pulling stone and wood aside with his bare hands. "Sheppard!" The Satedan's voice was raw, almost angry.

"Rodney." Teyla was at his side, her hair wild and windblown, her face mirroring his despair and fear, "Is he..?"

He looked at her for a moment in blank incomprehension, his mind still reeling from the sight of the utter destruction of the house, before snapping back to himself with a jerk. He fumbled frantically in the pockets of his tac vest, cursing himself for an idiot, and finally succeeded in pulling free the Life Signs Detector. He held the compact instrument in his hand and, for a brief moment, he hesitated, dreading what the softly-glowing screen might tell him; sometimes, he realised, ignorance truly is bliss. Stone clattered loudly against stone as Ronon flung pieces of debris to one side and, steeling himself, Rodney activated the LSD. The small screen lit up and, after what was probably only a fraction of a second but felt like a lifetime, a pattern of glowing dots appeared. Three of them. For an instant it seemed like the world stopped spinning and he closed his eyes in despair. Willing himself to be wrong, he peered more closely at the screen and felt the world jerk back into motion as he realised that one of the dots was in fact two dots, side by side, right next to each other. Four dots. Four life signs. He held his breath in disbelief. He looked more closely at the four dots, looking around him at Ronon and Teyla's positions and comparing them to the screen, then took a couple of steps to the side and watched as another dot divided into two, his life-sign moving away from Teyla's. Standing so close together, their life-signs had been side by side, almost merged on the LSD's small screen. Five dots in total. Two for he and Teyla and that left three life-signs in front of them – one was Ronon, balanced atop the rubble and the other two, side by side…

The wash of relief was so great that for a moment he felt dizzy and indeed he staggered a little, Teyla's hand on his arm grounding him, bringing him back to himself. "Rodney?"

Her eyes were filled with a terrible fear, an expectation of loss, and he found himself grinning almost hysterically, hardly daring to believe what the screen was telling him.

"They're alive," he croaked. "He's still alive." He gazed in disbelief at the pile of rubble. Somewhere underneath that pile of debris, Sheppard was still alive.

Ronon, his attention focused solely on his goal of reaching Sheppard, heaved a heavy stone to one side and the rubble shifted dangerously, Ronon wobbling precariously for a moment, struggling to find his balance. Somewhere in the pile a wooden beam groaned and snapped, sections of the ruined house shifting and sinking, and Rodney could hear the clatter of small pieces of debris falling and settling.

"Ronon!" Teyla was already moving towards the unstable ruin of the house. "Come down from there! It is not safe!"

Ronon's answer was almost a snarl, his face angry as he crouched atop the rubble. "We need to find Sheppard!"

There were more creaking sounds as the precarious structure protested the Satedan's weight and something inside Rodney snapped, his voice cracking as he shouted, "She's not worried about you, you neanderthal! The structure is not safe – you'll bring the whole damn thing down on top of him!"

Ronon's usually stoic face was a war of mixed emotions; instinctive anger, dawning realisation and shock and, something Rodney had never thought to see in the fierce warrior, helplessness. The momentary anger drained out of him in a rush; they were all helpless here. Sheppard was buried under tons of rubble, trapped, almost certainly injured. The village was in disarray, more than half of the buildings damaged or destroyed, and these people didn't have anything like the technology needed to mount a delicate rescue operation such as this. He felt despair weigh heavy on his soul.

"Ronon." Teyla's voice was calm, as strong and sure as ever. He marvelled at her composure as she firmly held out a hand, her stance implacable as she waited patiently for Ronon to concede and climb down from the ruined house. She was a mess, her hair in disarray, her uniform coated in dust and grime, but as ever she was a calm focus, a voice of rationality and composure in the midst of chaos. He realised suddenly just how much they, how much _he_, relied on Teyla and her ability to deal with anything that life threw at her, to cope in the worst of situations. She remained calm, her expression one of understanding, as Ronon reluctantly jumped down from the rubble, rising from his crouched landing to tower over her, his frustration evident on his face.

"We have to do something!" he gritted out.

"We will, Ronon.."

"We need help," Rodney interrupted shortly. He forced himself to push his fear aside and think, to figure out a way out of this. He realised with a lurch of despair that it was usually Sheppard who held him together in these situations, made him snap out of his panic and focus on the problem at hand, allowing him to once again find a brilliant solution to save them all. Only this time Sheppard wasn't here to steady him; it was Sheppard who needed saving. He was relying on his team, on Rodney. The thought galvanised him into action and he snapped his fingers impatiently at Ronon as his mind already began spinning through ideas, calculating load and weight distribution.

"We need a jumper. We need structural engineers." He ticked his points off on his fingers as he spoke, his words as rapid as his thoughts. "We need climbing gear and safety equipment. Ropes and pulleys. And we need Beckett."

"McKay.."

He rounded on Ronon in a controlled fury, his fear and frustration spilling up into his throat, choking him, making his voice tight and painful. "We can't do this on our own, Ronon! These people," he waved a hand at the devastated village, the dazed villagers wandering shell-shocked in the streets, "can't _help_ us! We _need_ help!"

"He could be.."

"Yes, he could be. And nothing we can do right now can change that. We need to get help to get him out of there and we need to get it now. We are _wasting time_ here!" He could feel the blood rushing to his head, knew his face must be flushed and wild. He was beyond caring.

"I am lighter than Ronon," Teyla offered. "Perhaps.."

"Yes, yes! Whatever!" He snapped distractedly. "If the rubble will hold your weight then great. Give it a go. You," he pointed at Ronon, "need to get back to the gate and get help, _right now_!"

Ronon gave him a long look and for a second Rodney thought he had pushed the angry Satedan too far but his reasoning was sound and Ronon knew it; he was the fastest runner out of all of them, Teyla was the smallest and the only one with any chance of being able to navigate the ruins without furthering endangering Sheppard, and McKay… McKay was doing what he did best, coming up with the plan to save the day.

With Ronon, to think was to act and, accepting the logic of McKay's argument, he turned on his heel and set off down the street at a dead run, villagers scattering from his path as he raced by. "And bring back food and water too!" Rodney yelled after him. He turned to find Teyla had paused in her careful ascent of the ruined building to cast him a long, level look. "What?" he demanded indignantly. "We have no idea how long this is gonna take and I really don't think serving us canapés and spiced tea is much of a priority for these people right now, do you?"

Teyla's gaze slipped past him to take in the ruins of what had been a lively and bustling community. "The villagers will need our help," she murmured sadly.

"Yes, yes. We can worry about that later. One thing at a time, if you don't mind, and right now…" He gestured pointedly at the rubble under which his best friend lay buried, maybe dying right now, even as he stood here helplessly. He swallowed, feeling the flutter of panic building again in his stomach, and watched as Teyla carefully negotiated the unsteady ruin.

As time passed, he found his attention transfixed by the LSD. He couldn't stop staring at the screen, watching those two unmoving dots that were all that let him know that Sheppard still clung to life. Teyla moved lightly and carefully over the rubble, testing her weight carefully before every step, slowly and gingerly lifting chunks of stone and tile, broken timbers, and throwing them clear of the debris field. Everything seemed to Rodney to be taking too long, far too long. Teyla's progress was necessarily slow and Ronon… They'd walked for maybe an hour or so to reach the village when they'd arrived. How fast could Ronon run anyway? How long would it take him to reach the gate? And then he'd have to explain what had happened, get the necessary people and equipment together, stock the jumper… He looked at his watch impatiently. How much longer, dammit?

"Doctor McKay?"

He tore his gaze from the LSD to find Enir hovering nearby. The Councillor was a different man from the confident, charming diplomat who had welcomed them to his village just hours earlier. He looked, tired, drained, his gaze hollow with shock at the devastation that had been visited upon his quiet community.

Rodney looked beyond the Councillor at the debris-littered street and for the first time he realised what this disaster meant to the villagers; their town destroyed, buildings crumbling, people homeless, crops ruined. It would take them months, even years, to rebuild and recover. Teyla was right, the Tarins would need their help.

He coughed uncomfortably, not knowing what to say or do to appease the desperate look on Enir's face. "Oh. Councillor Enir. Um, is.. is everyone… are your people alright?"

Enir nodded wearily, "There are some injuries but it seems that none were lost. We were very lucky. Were it not for your Colonel Sheppard…." His words tailed off as he looked helplessly around him, the enormity of the destruction overwhelming him for a moment. Rodney couldn't think of a thing to say, a guilty feeling of resentment tightening in his throat at the thought of Sheppard lying trapped and injured whilst these strangers had walked away from this disaster with just a few scratches. Enir's voice was distant, distracted, his eyes seeing only the ruins of his home as he mused, "The roundwind is unpredictable. Often it strikes without warning… many have been lost in the past, unable to reach the shelters in time." He met Rodney's gaze earnestly. "How did he know? Your friend? He knew the roundwind would come before we saw it.."

Enir looked around for Sheppard, his face creasing in confusion as he realised belatedly that only Rodney and Teyla remained of their four visitors. "Where are..?"

"Ronon has gone to bring help from our people," Rodney replied shortly, turning his attention back to the LSD.

There was a moment of silence as Enir processed that information, putting it together with the sight of Teyla digging by hand through the rubble of the building. There was an all too familiar look of despair on his face as he turned back to McKay. "And Colonel Sheppard..?" he asked faintly, the hopeless note to his voice confirming he already suspected the answer.

Wordlessly, McKay pointed at where Teyla continued to carefully lift away the remnants of the building, piece by slow careful piece.

"I'm so sorry.." Enir's face showed genuine sorrow and Rodney found himself feeling ridiculously, inappropriately, angry.

"He's still alive," he snapped, his fingers clenching around the LSD.

He sensed that Enir was doubtful, and looking at the pile of rubble he could certainly see why, but before the Councillor could speak they were distracted by the babble of raised voices and a wailing cry that rent the heavy air of shocked silence that hung like a pall over the village. A crowd had gathered in the street and Enir hurried over to them, Rodney looking on helplessly as a distraught woman separated from the huddle of villagers, clinging to the Councillor as he offered comfort, her sobs audible as she struggled to answer Enir's questions.

He turned back quickly at a loud cracking noise and saw Teyla freeze in place, her weight balanced precariously between one stone block and another.

"Be careful up there!" he yelled, his heart in his throat as she carefully, slowly, transferred her weight, backing up from the unstable section. Reaching safety, she breathed out in relief and cast him a sharp look, frustration heavy in her voice.

"I _am_ being careful, Rodney." Her face was streaked with sweat and dirt, haggard with exertion and worry. Taking a moment to gather herself, she turned back to her task, stepping carefully across the rubble to lift a chunk of broken plaster and carefully lift it aside. Rodney watched helplessly, clutching the LSD like a lifeline, and regretted his outburst.

"Dr McKay?" Rodney turned to find Enir once again, his arm around the shoulders of the young woman who'd been crying in the street. Her face was pressed to Enir's shoulder now, her sobs muffled, and the Councillor's face was sombre.

"I am sorry for your friend, Doctor," Enir said gravely, "but it seems you are not alone in your loss." His arm tightened around the shaking shoulders of the young woman. "Ilyona's child is missing. We had thought she was taken to the shelter with the rest of the children from the school but in the confusion…" He looked away as words failed him, swallowing hard as he fought for control.

Rodney could have kicked himself. In his preoccupation with rescuing Sheppard, it had never occurred to him to let the villagers know of the second life sign under the rubble. Of course the child would have been missed. He looked at the distraught woman and felt like the lowest kind of heel.

"Uh. Would this be a small girl, blonde hair?" He winced in expectation of recrimination.

The young mother's head lifted, her face tear-streaked, her eyes red and swollen, and regarded him like he was some kind of saviour, a light of desperate hope in her eyes. "Anari? You've seen her?"

He nodded reluctantly, not relishing what was to come. "She's alive," he told them, figuring to get in with the good news first and wishing the words, "for now.." weren't also hovering on the tip of his tongue. He saw realisation dawning on Enir's face, his eyes drawn unwillingly to the crushed remains of the house, and he rushed to finish his explanation.

"She was standing in the middle of the street and the torna.. uh, the roundwind was coming. Sheppard heard her crying and he ran to save her but there wasn't enough time to get to a shelter… He ran for the nearest house and…"

He saw Ilyona's face crumple as she followed his gaze to where Teyla still balanced atop the precarious structure, carefully, methodically, digging through the rubble. No more words were necessary; she already understood. He shoved the LSD at her face, babbling now as he tried to offer some reassurance, however small. "She's still alive," he insisted. "They both are." He showed them the glowing dots on the screen, explaining, "This device, it detects life signs. It shows anything living as a dot on the screen. You see?" He pointed to the screen. "These dots here are you and Enir and me; we're standing close together so the three dots are almost merged on the screen. This dot here is Teyla and these two.. These two are Sheppard and your daughter. They are still alive. And help is on the way, we have men coming and machinery. We'll get them out, I promise…"

Ilyona's eyes were desolate, her hand pressed to her mouth as she stared in horror at the twisted pile of rubble before her, comprehending only that her daughter, her precious child, was buried somewhere under all that debris.

There was a sudden low rumble and the remains of the house trembled and shifted, dust filling the air as a section of the rubble suddenly collapsed and settled. Ilyona cried out and Rodney's heart leapt into his throat as Teyla abruptly disappeared from view.

"Teyla!" He ran forward, scrambling up the lower slopes of the piled debris, feeling sick to his stomach as he realised that, no matter what had happened, he could go no further. He couldn't risk bringing the entire structure down with him and killing all of them. Fear clenched like a fist around his heart and his voice cracked as he shouted once more, "Teyla!"

There was a dry, dusty cough from somewhere atop the rubble and Rodney felt as if his legs had turned to jello as Teyla's voice, rasping and strangely echoey, answered, "I am here, Rodney."

"Oh, thank god!" He staggered backwards, away from the ruined house, and for a moment felt so light-headed that he had to bend over, his hands on his knees, and just concentrate on breathing. Dammit. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been that scared. Oh, wait. Yes, he could, he thought bitterly. About an hour ago as he'd huddled in a dark and cramped cellar listening to a tornado rip the town apart above his head.

He sucked in a deep breath and straightened. He still couldn't see Teyla. He frowned and shouted up to her, "Are you okay?"

It was a moment or two before she answered, enough to make him worry, but her voice, when it came, was as strong and as calm as ever. "I am uninjured, Rodney. The debris has shifted and I slid into something of a hollow in the rubble. I believe I can climb out." He heard the clatter of small stones sliding as she moved.

"Be careful!" The moment the words left his mouth he grimaced, realising how pointless his advice was. Of course, she was going to be careful; she didn't need him to tell her that! He dragged his hands across his face in frustration. He felt useless here; his scientific expertise was no help to them in this situation, at least until they could get some equipment in here to start properly excavating the ruins, then he would have something to contribute but right now… He hovered impatiently, hating not being able to help and having nothing to do, before realising belatedly that he no longer held the LSD; in his panic at Teyla's disappearance he had simply dropped it as he ran to help. He spun in a circle, scanning the dirt road at his feet, and spied it lying abandoned at the foot of the rubble pile. He snatched it up and, with a silent prayer to a deity he didn't believe in, reactivated the device. For a moment he could see only two dots in the scanner field and his heart plummeted for a second time. Then one of the dots blurred and split apart and merged again and he realised what had happened. Teyla was moving about above the other two life signs. Wherever she was, John was almost directly below.

He opened his mouth to shout, to warn her, but his words were lost in an excited cry from atop the rubble.

"Rodney!" Teyla shouted. "I can see them!!"

* * *

_TBC..._


	4. Chapter 4

_Apologies for the horrendous delay in updating this. Real life issues got a bit stressful and I chose to take a much-needed break from the writing. Am now back to working on this story and there will be another 1-2 chapters to come._

* * *

Teyla's heart was pounding in her chest as she stretched herself full-length across the unstable rubble, carefully spreading the distribution of her weight as she eased herself down to slide her head and shoulders as far as she could into the gap that had opened up towards the far corner of what remained of the building. The space was narrow and she could feel her back scraping against the rough underside of a large slab of stone. She was hyper-aware of every noise, every creak and groan of the precariously balanced structure, every plink and tinkle of small stone fragments slipping and falling in the settling debris. The rubble was dangerously unstable and she knew there was a very good possibility that it could collapse at any moment but she pushed that fear aside and continued to squirm carefully forwards.

She managed to get one arm through the gap before her shoulders wedged in the small space and she knew she could go no further. Stretching as far forward as she could, she craned her neck in an effort to see, calling out softly, equal parts hope and fear tightening her throat, "John?"

Some way below her, on what must have been the original ground floor of the house, half buried in a twisted mess of rubble, something shifted and moved sluggishly, and Teyla found herself looking into the frightened eyes of a young child. The small face crumpled in fear and the mouth opened in a thin wail that made Teyla's heart ache.

Her radio clicked and Rodney's voice was sharp, impatience overlaying fear, "Anything?"

"I see them," she replied, a little breathlessly, the sound echoing oddly in the small space formed by the collapsed rubble. "The child is awake. She is scared but I cannot see any visible injuries."

"What?" Rodney's voice was distracted and Teyla could hear the murmur of voices as someone interrupted the scientist. "Fine." The impatience was more pronounced as he returned to their conversation. "Apparently the child's name is Anari. What about Sheppard?"

She swallowed. "He is not moving. I believe he is unconscious…"

She did not voice the fear that left her dry-mouthed and cold but she knew that Rodney had nonetheless heard her unspoken words, his voice rough as he replied shortly, "The LSD shows he's still alive."

She closed her eyes briefly, allowing herself a quiet moment of relief, short-lived though it may be. They had found John, and that was a positive step, but the situation was still grave and she found herself wondering how they could hope to extract him safely from his precarious position.

It was sheer luck that she had even found them at all. The rubble had shifted as she had tried to move a heavy beam aside, something giving way underneath her, the surface beneath her feet dropping sharply, sending her sliding down a sudden incline to land, shaken and gasping, in a dip in the creaking, groaning debris. She had been frozen in place, terrified of precipitating a further collapse, and it had taken all her courage to remain calm and to force herself to move, to try and climb back out.

She had crawled across the unstable debris on hands and knees, holding her breath as stone shifted under her weight and the still trembling structure creaked and groaned. The partial collapse had opened up gaps in the tangle of rubble, dangerous holes where remnants of the roof and upper floors were balanced precariously on the ruins of the rooms below. It was as she was carefully negotiating her way around one of these gaps that a flash of colour caught her eye, something that didn't fit in with the mass of earth-coloured stone and wood and brightly painted plaster. She had turned back, leaning forward tentatively, peering into the small gap in an effort to find what had attracted her attention. For a moment she had seen only chaos, the destruction and tangled debris of the lower floor, and then her eye had caught a glimpse of black fabric and suddenly the chaos had resolved into recognisable shapes, the scrap of black fabric becoming a t-shirt clad torso, and she had realised she was looking at John Sheppard, his body half-buried in the rubble. He was lying face down, his shock of dark hair almost unrecognisable for a thick coating of dust and plaster fragments. His legs and the right side of his torso were hidden from view under the debris and his left arm was flung out to the side, curved protectively over… the huddled form of a small child. She lay close beside him, her body sheltered by his. They were both utterly still, their bodies crumpled amongst the shattered ruins of the house.

The thrill of fear at seeing John trapped under the debris, lying so still and silent, had almost overwhelmed her joy at having found him. Her heart had been in her throat as she had backed carefully away from the hole and, completely forgetting her radio, shouted at the top of her voice that she'd found them.

The radio crackled briefly. "Can you reach him?" Rodney couldn't hide the tremor of hope in his voice.

She squirmed briefly, feeling the rough stonework scrape at the skin of her shoulders, and grunted in frustration. She was several feet above them and even with her shoulders wedged in the gap and her arm outstretched, she could not reach far enough to touch them. The child watched her struggles and began to sob quietly.

She gave up with a sigh. There was no way to reach further into the cramped space. "No," she reported unhappily. "I cannot get close enough."

"Dammit." McKay's curse was quiet, not intended to be heard, but the sensitive microphone picked up his words and carried them to her and she pressed her lips together, knowing he shared her frustration. All they could do now was wait for help to arrive.

The child was crying quietly, her eyes huge and round in her dirt-streaked face, and Teyla's heart went out to the terrified girl, all too easily imagining how frightening it must have been for her to have been caught in the path of the storm, seeking shelter in this building only to have it torn apart around her, trapping her in the dark, dangerous ruins of the house.

"Hush now," she soothed, keeping her voice low and reassuring, "There is nothing more to fear. Everything will all be alright." Her words sounded hollow even to her own ears; she wished desperately that she could know them to be truth but their situation was grave and every moment that passed could easily be their last.

The child continued to whimper and Teyla sought helplessly for a way to distract her. "Your name is Anari, yes?" A tearful nod.

"That's a beautiful name, for a beautiful and brave little girl. We will get you out of here, Anari." She poured into her voice every ounce of faith that she had in Rodney and in Ronon and in all of the Atlantis team, willing the child to believe that she was not alone, that they would not give up until she was freed. "I just need you to be strong for me, okay? It will take some little time but we will get you out of here."

Anari stared up at Teyla with big, tearful eyes but her crying slowly stopped and she nodded solemnly. Teyla smiled and was pleased to see an answering, tremulous smile on the child's face.

"Are you injured, Anari?" she questioned gently. "Does anywhere hurt?" The child shook her head. Teyla could not see any sign of visible injury. It looked as though John had used his own body to shelter the girl from the falling debris as the house came down around them; she lay curled up against his side, his arm laid across her waist. Teyla frowned. "Can you move?"

Anari's face showed reluctance, her lip trembling again, and she burrowed closer to John, clutching his arm fearfully.

"Anari?" Teyla kept her voice deliberately calm and low. "Can you tell me if John is injured?" She gestured with her one free arm at John's motionless body. "The man who protected you from the roundwind? His name is John. He is… he is a good friend of mine. Can you tell me if he is hurt, Anari?"

The child looked a little dubiously at Teyla and then back at her fallen saviour. Her little forehead creased into a frown as she looked back up at Teyla and when she spoke her high, childish voice was quiet and subdued.

"He's sleeping."

Teyla's reassuring smile wavered slightly, her breath catching in her throat. "I know, Anari. But I need to know if he is hurt…" She bit her lip, trying to find a way to make the child understand. "Have you ever fallen and hurt yourself, Anari? Have you had a bruise - where the skin changes colour and it hurts when you touch it? Or a cut or a graze where the skin is broken and it bleeds?"

Anari nodded solemnly. "I fell and hit my leg and it was bleeding. Mother said I was a brave girl because I only cried a little.."

Teyla nodded encouragingly. "Okay. Well, I need you to be brave now and tell me if John has a hurt like that? Is he bleeding?"

The child looked at John again and then back up at Teyla, her face a mixture of emotion, her fear warring with a brave determination that brought a sharp ache to Teyla's throat. Slowly, moving stiffly, the little girl struggled to sit up, sliding herself carefully out from under John's arm. Teyla watched helplessly as John remained motionless, not registering the child's movement, his arm slipping limply to the floor as Anari clambered unsteadily to her hands and knees beside him.

John didn't move as Anari hesitantly poked at his shoulder. Teyla watched, hardly daring to breathe, as the little girl crawled over the rubble to check John over for injuries.

"He's bleeding." Teyla's blood ran cold as Anari turned a pale, dirt-streaked face to her, the child's eyes huge with fear. She closed her eyes briefly, reaching into herself to find a place of calm, just letting herself breathe for a moment. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she asked carefully, "Can you see where he is hurt?"

Anari shook her head and pointed at John's torso, half-buried in shattered debris. "His clothes are sticky," she stated sadly and Teyla was horrified to see the child's hands stained with red from where she had touched John's t-shirt.

"Teyla?" The radio crackled to life with a suddenness that startled her. Rodney's voice was tight with impatient excitement, his words rapid as he told her, "They're here. The jumper's here."

The overwhelming relief that washed through her was tempered by uncertainty. They were a long way from safe just yet. The ruined house was dangerously unstable and she had no idea how they could possibly intend to dig John and Anari out without collapsing the entire structure. And John was injured, possibly seriously. She kept her voice quiet so as not to worry the child hunched on the rubble-strewn floor below her, knowing that the mic would carry even her whispered words to McKay. "You need to hurry, Rodney."

* * *

_TBC.._


	5. Chapter 5

_This story just keeps turning out to be way longer than I expect it to be!... and I've barely even gotten to the proper whumpage yet! Lots more to come on this one; at least a couple more chapters... Thanks for sticking with it..._

* * *

Carson's heart was in his mouth as he watched the jumper hover precariously over the ruins of the Tarin building. Somewhere under there Colonel Sheppard was buried in the rubble, injured, bleeding, needing Carson's help – and he couldn't get near him. He felt the frustration throughout his entire body, in the dryness of his mouth, the impatient pounding of his heart, the ache of muscles clenched too tightly for too long and in the tightness in his chest that made him have to concentrate on breathing slowly and calmly, forcing him to think about what should be an instinctual process.

Looking at the twisted mass of rubble, he found it hard to believe that anyone could have survived such massive destruction. He'd been dismayed to see the damage wrought by the tornado as the jumper had skimmed rapidly over the battered village but the sight that had met him as he'd exited the small craft had left him stunned; the building was a ruin, collapsed in on itself in a jagged, unsteady pile of cracked stonework and thick, heavy wooden beams snapped into pieces like so many twigs. Even as he had watched, the rubble had trembled, settling and shifting, and he couldn't imagine how they could possibly get Sheppard out from under all that.

Rodney, however, apparently could. He had taken charge of the team of marines and engineers as soon as they set foot on the planet's surface, snapping orders and quoting calculations that left Carson bewildered within mere moments. The engineers seemed to know what he was talking about though, taking his demands in their stride and setting about their work with a quiet, if serious, confidence. All Carson could do was watch helplessly as they methodically unloaded their equipment from the jumper and set about their work, moving together seamlessly as a team, all of them seeming to understand their respective roles in this operation.

Carson's only link to his patient was Teyla who was still somewhere atop the rubble, as best Carson could understand it partly wedged into a small gap in the upper layers of the debris, able to see Colonel Sheppard and the trapped child but not to reach them or offer any assistance. She had refused to leave the area as the engineering team set about their work, stating firmly that the child Anari was scared and alone and that she would not abandon her at such a time. The unspoken addendum that she would not leave Colonel Sheppard alone and trapped in the rubble was understood by all. Rodney was quick to incorporate Teyla's presence into his schemes and soon had her included in the rescue process, her careful observations of the effects of their efforts on the unstable lower levels of the ruined building being relayed directly to the team as they worked. More than once her sharp warning had had them halt their actions as the precarious debris field reacted unpredictably to their attempts to stabilise it.

Carson's understanding of the means by which the team of engineers intended to extract Sheppard from the rubble of the destroyed building was sketchy at best. It appeared to involve teams of men working around the base of the ruined house to shore up and support the unstable edifice whilst the jumper was used to carefully lift and remove large pieces of rubble from the top of the pile in an effort to simultaneously reduce the danger posed by the heavy, precariously-balanced debris and clear a path through to the ground floor level where Sheppard was trapped. One lone engineer, the smallest and lightest of the group, risked climbing up onto the unsteady mound of rubble, his weight partially supported by a complex system of ropes and pulleys stretched between stout stanchions set up around the perimeter, to attach hooks and cables around each selected piece of debris in turn, allowing the jumper to carefully, frustratingly slowly, lift each heavy piece and carry it away from the ruined house.

The operation was slow and methodical and, to Carson's mind, seemed to be making little progress towards allowing him access to his patient. He was left watching helplessly on the sidelines, Ronon hovering impatiently nearby, the two of them the only members of the Atlantis team present who had nothing to contribute to this stage of the rescue and could only watch and wait with growing impatience. Behind them, the shocked villagers watched in fearful wonderment at the men and machines who fought to rescue their friend and one of their own precious children. The Tarins clustered around Enir and Ilyona, their faces bright with hope as they focused on the drama at hand, forgetting for a short while the reality of the difficult future that lay ahead for the damaged village.

Carson was loathe to interrupt the delicate rescue operation, to distract Teyla from her vital role in the process of shoring up the ruins, but all the information he had on the condition of his patient was a brief, sketchy summary almost whispered into the radio by Teyla when he had first arrived. All he knew was that Sheppard was unconscious, his body partially buried in the rubble, and that he had at least one lacerating, possibly penetrating, injury resulting in an unknown degree of blood loss. That had been perhaps an hour or more ago.

"Teyla? It's Carson.."

"I hear you, Dr Beckett." Her voice was as steady as ever but, after more than two years in Atlantis, Carson knew the petite Athosian well enough to hear the tension in her speech, the minute thread of fear that laced her voice.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Teyla," he found himself rushing his words, at once impatient for information and regretting having to bother her, "but I was wondering if you could give me a wee update on the condition of our patients?" He found himself clenching his fists as he waited for her reply.

He could hear creaking and groaning in the background, ominous, terrifying sounds, as Teyla's words came back to him over the radio. "There has been little change, Carson." She sounded a little breathless, her voice strained, and in his mind's eye he pictured her wedged into the small gap in the rubble, straining forward to see as much as she could of Colonel Sheppard and the child Anari as she gave her report. "Anari appears to be unhurt aside from a few scratches and she is able to move about without difficulty. She is tired and scared but she is being very brave.." Her voice warmed as she spoke those words, her tone gentle and encouraging, and he could imagine her offering smiling encouragement to the frightened child who was obviously listening to Teyla's side of the conversation.

"Colonel Sheppard is… _STOP_!" A loud cracking sound almost drowned out Teyla's urgent cry and the bustle of activity around the ruins stopped dead as a cloud of dust rose in the air and a portion of the rubble suddenly dropped several feet.

"Teyla! Teyla?"

"Report!"

"Teyla!"

"Stand clear!"

The radio channel was a babble of voices as everyone spoke at once, Carson and Rodney talking over each other in their concern for Teyla, the engineers and soldiers issuing terse commands and rapid exchanges of information. The thick dust thrown into the air made Carson's eyes feel gritty and he coughed harshly, a desperate fear clenching at his stomach as he tried the radio again, "Teyla?"

There was a crackle of static and for the first time he understood how someone could actually, physically go "weak at the knees" with relief as he heard Teyla's voice, breathless and fraught but gloriously alive, "I am here, Carson."

"Oh thank god.." He staggered back a step, his shoulders slumping as, for a brief moment, the taut, fearful tension was washed away in a flood of relief. To his left, Ronon let out a muttered curse and spun on his heel, his fists clenched as he paced in frustration. Rodney, frozen in place in the midst of directing his engineering team, was white-faced and shaken. Carson sucked in a deep breath. "Are you okay, love?"

The sound of coughing came over the radio and Teyla's voice was hoarse from the dust kicked up by the collapse but her words were reassuring, "I am unhurt." There was a sharp note of urgency in her voice as she continued, "The debris has shifted and part of the side wall has collapsed. Rodney, you need to halt the excavation."

"Teyla, we can't just.."

She interrupted Rodney's protests, unable to contain the excitement in her voice as she told them, "The collapse has widened the hole in the rubble - I think I can get through. I think I can reach them."

Carson found himself barely daring to breathe, hope warring with fear as Rodney's voice crackled in his ear, those same emotions evident in his hurried words, "Teyla, be careful.."

"Stand by." Teyla's radio clicked into silence, leaving the Atlantis team in an agony of helpless anticipation, all work halted, every face turned in hope and fear towards the crumbled, shattered remains of the building. Somewhere under that weight of precarious debris, Teyla was trying to squeeze herself through a small gap in the rubble in a desperate attempt to reach their injured friend. Carson found himself imagining all too easily the tight, enclosed confines of the ruined house, the pressure of the uneven debris scraping against Teyla's small frame as she worked herself carefully, slowly, between the cracked and crumbling stonework of the collapsed upper floor. He had to remind himself to breathe as nervous tension tightened his chest, stealing the moisture from his mouth as he swallowed thickly.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon.." Rodney was rocking restlessly on the balls of his feet, murmuring distractedly to himself as he chewed his lip impatiently.

The nervous silence seemed to go on forever, the continued creaking and groaning of the settling debris ominously loud in the unnatural stillness as both Lantians and villagers waited with baited breath for news.

A click and a hiss of static and then the best sound Carson had heard in a long time. "I have made it. I have reached the lower level of the house and am with Colonel Sheppard and Anari."

The engineers grinned and high-fived each other, the villagers cheering upon seeing the Lantians' reaction. Rodney closed his eyes briefly and for that short moment in time Carson could see the man's every emotion, the true depth of his friendship with the members of his team, written clearly across his face. He opened his eyes with a deliberate exhalation of breath and was once again the demanding, contrary McKay that everyone knew so well, interrupting the engineers' celebrations with a scathing comment and issuing peremptory orders that had the team quickly, if not a little sullenly, picking up their work where they had left off.

The excavation would succeed or fail on the strength of Rodney's calculations and the engineer's execution of his plan; now that someone, anyone, was able to physically examine and tend to his patients, Carson had only one concern on his mind.

"Teyla, how is Colonel Sheppard?"

* * *

_TBC..._


	6. Chapter 6

_This is a loooong one folks. And there's lots more yet to come..._

* * *

Getting to the ground floor of the ruined house had been both difficult and terrifying. The partial collapse of one of the lower walls supporting the unstable ruins of the upper levels had shifted the debris around Teyla, part of the surface she was lying on dropping sickeningly beneath her, and, in so doing, had slightly enlarged the opening through which she had been trying to reach Anari and Colonel Sheppard. Not by much, but enough that she had felt she might be able to squeeze herself through.

She had been able to get through the hole.. but only just. It had been a slow, tense process, easing her body through the tight gap in a cautious, steady wriggle. She had been uncomfortably aware of the unsteadiness of the building, the closeness of the small space through which she was trying to fit herself. Stone had scraped along her skin, the precarious ruins of the house groaning and creaking around her. Each protesting moan of shifting rubble, each tinkle of falling debris, had sent a jolt of fear through her, making her heart race, adrenalin flooding her system. She had had to fight the urge to hurry, to push quickly through the hole and get to the relative safety of the level below before the rubble shifted again and collapsed the upper levels while her body was still precariously, dangerously, wedged into the irregular gap between heavy slabs of stone. The prospect of being crushed by the shifting debris was a very real danger. She had focused on her breathing, remembering the lessons her father had taught her about keeping her centre, staying strong and calm even in the midst of chaos.

Her shoulders had pushed through the gap with a hairs' breadth to spare and she had used her arms to brace against the slab of stone below her and help pull her body further into the cramped space. Below her, John had been silent and still, having shown no signs of regaining consciousness in the long hours since she had stumbled across he and Anari trapped in the rubble. The child Anari had watched her squirming progress with a mixture of fear and hope, her little face twisting with worry as the tight confines of the irregular gap had scraped the skin from Teyla's shoulder as she slid through, drawing an involuntary hiss of pain from her lips.

Getting down to the floor, a good way below her, had been a challenge in and of itself. The drop was greater than her own height and, even if she had been able to reach to the floor, she had no way to support her weight whilst she withdrew her legs from the hole; there were no obvious handholds nearby and in any case she did not trust to the stability of the rubble enough to try and suspend herself from it in order to drop feet first to the floor. In the end, seeing no other option, she had pushed herself as far as she could without falling, sliding her hips through the narrow opening, and allowed her torso to tilt forward, her own weight pulling her body free of the gap in the rubble. She had stretched her arms out before her as she had fallen forwards into the small space under the rubble, her legs slipping smoothly over the lip of the hole high above, bending her elbows to absorb the impact with the ground, tucking her head and allowing her body to roll over, the motion absorbing the momentum of the fall and leaving her sitting, a little shaken and a lot bruised, on the ground floor of the ruined house, suddenly face to face on a level with Anari. After a moment of fearful hesitation, the child's need for comfort had overwhelmed her natural caution and she had thrown herself into Teyla's arms, her little body trembling as she sought reassurance in a fierce hug.

Teyla gladly took a moment to comfort the child, wincing a little as adrenalin faded and she became aware of a litany of aches and pains. Her muscles, stiffened after long hours of lying motionless in the cramped space atop the rubble, protested the strenuous effort of squeezing through the narrow gap above and her abrupt landing on the uneven, debris-strewn floor of the lower level had left her feeling battered and bruised. Anari sniffled quietly, her tears mostly from relief at no longer being quite so alone, Teyla guessed, and she gently held the child from her, offering a reassuring smile that brought forth a tremulous smile in response. Stretching a little experimentally, feeling the sharp ache of overtaxed muscles and bruised tissue but nothing too serious, Teyla tapped the radio earpiece and delivered the good news to the team waiting outside. She had made it.

She had a response almost immediately and, as quick as Carson's query came, she had already anticipated it and was rolling stiffly to her knees, turning to her fallen team mate as the doctor's anxious query crackled in her ear. "Teyla, how is Colonel Sheppard?"

She pushed herself smoothly to her feet and, crouching carefully, she stepped over and around the uneven debris to drop to her knees beside John, picking her way over the rubble-strewn floor much as Anari had hours earlier. She found herself oddly hesitant to touch him; as much as the LSD assured them that he still lived, he had been so still, so silent for all these hours and she could not dispel a lurking fear that she would lay her hand on him and find him cold, his life having slipped away unnoticed whilst they had worked fruitlessly above. She pushed that awful fear aside and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, breathing out a small sigh of relief at finding his body soft and warm to the touch, not cold and stiff in death. He did not react to her touch and the tight feeling of concern, the icy fear that had lain, cold and hard, in her stomach as the hours had passed, did not abate. Moving quickly, concentrating on remembering the skills Carson had taught her, she moved her hand to John's neck; his head was turned away from her and she had to slip her fingers between his shoulder and his chin to search for the pulse point. His skin was cool the touch and his pulse, when, after a long, fearful moment, she found it, was weak and fast. Biting her lip, she held her hand over his lips and was relieved to find him breathing. The flutter of air across her skin was slight though and also rapid. She frowned.

"Carson?"

"Yes, love?" She could hear the fear and hope in his voice, the dreadful eagerness for information, for knowledge that he could use to help his patient, his friend.

Consciously using the terminology he had taught her, the words still feeling foreign, unfamiliar on her tongue, she told him, "John's carotid pulse is weak and rapid and his skin feels cool and clammy. His breathing also seems rapid and shallow." Her heart was heavy as she listed the symptoms; she recalled that very list of danger signs from Carson's first aid training. "He is in shock, is he not, Carson?" she questioned, concern tightening her chest.

There was an exhalation of breath over the radio and she felt Carson's frustration and worry as palpably as her own. "Yes, love. He's almost certainly in hypovolaemic shock. We need to find out where he is bleeding and do what we can to treat it." His voice was rough, tight with emotion, but gaining in strength as he began to issue orders, slipping easily into the confident, decisive mannerisms she had seen in him time and time again when a life was at stake, the survival of another living being entirely in his hands.

"Teyla, I need you to examine the Colonel and describe his injuries to me." There was a click as he opened the radio channel to broadcast to the entire team. "We need medical supplies and equipment inside that house, right now. Where's that chappy with the ropes and harnesses? I need him up on top of the rubble to pass equipment to Teyla."

The energy and determination in his voice brought a rush of hope to Teyla, leaving her revitalised and focused. Over the radio, there was a chatter of voices as the team, similarly invigorated, responded quickly to Carson's orders. Anari crouched nearby and watched with wide eyes as Teyla moved around John's still form, stepping carefully around him to crouch in the cramped space between his head and the edges of the tumbled rubble which half buried him. John's eyes were closed and he looked almost peaceful, as though he were merely sleeping. White, chalky dust was thick in his tousled hair and Teyla carefully brushed more plaster dust from his cheek as she examined his face. His skin looked pale under the coating of dust but there were no injuries that she could see. Running her fingers quickly through his hair, she found no evidence of any lumps or cuts that would indicate a head injury. Bending forward to look more closely, she gently gripped his chin and turned his head just a little, lifting his cheek from the floor. Frowning, she tapped her radio and called Carson.

"Teyla. How's our patient?"

"I have found what looks like bruising to his left temple, Carson. I fear he may have received a blow to the head during the collapse." She focused on keeping her voice steady as she reported the worrying news.

"Okay." Carson took the information in his stride, his voice thoughtful as he discussed the situation with her. "We're looking at a probable concussion then; that could explain why he has not yet regained consciousness. Is the skin broken?"

She carefully lifted John's head further, wary of moving him too much and exacerbating an unknown injury, and peered more closely at the discoloured patch of skin. She could not see any blood and, running her fingers gently across his temple, she could feel no evidence of a cut or any bleeding, the skin smooth and hot beneath her touch. "I do not believe so, Carson." She carefully laid John's head back down and turned her attention to her continued examination.

"What about any other injuries? Have you found the source of the bleeding?" Carson queried urgently.

Teyla shook her head, feeling a growing frustration as she ran her hands carefully over John's shoulders and back. "Not yet," she murmured. "This will not be a simple matter.. much of the Colonel's body is buried under the rubble. He.." Her words died on her lips as her questing hands touched damp, sticky cloth.

"Teyla? What is it, love?" Carson's concerned voice was loud in her ear as she lifted her hand and grimaced to see her fingertips smeared red with blood, John's blood. Bright, red, fresh blood, which meant that John was still continuing to bleed. She swallowed thickly.

"I have.." Her voice cracked and she tried again. "He is still bleeding. I cannot see the injury but his shirt is wet with fresh blood."

She sat back on her heels, looking up at the narrow opening above as she spoke, "I am going to have to try and remove some of the debris if we are to have any hope of treating Colonel Sheppard's injury."

Rodney's voice broke in on the conversation, his tone harsh as he snapped, "If you mess around in there you could bring the whole thing down on top of all of you!"

"I am aware of that, Rodney but.."

Her attempt at a calm reply was interrupted by Carson's equally snappish response, "And if we don't try then the poor bugger'll have bled to death by the time you and your engineers figure out a way to get him out of there!"

"Hey! If it wasn't for "me and my engineers".."

"Is there not some way to shore up this area from within so that we may more safely remove the debris that is trapping the Colonel?" Teyla stopped the growing argument by the simple expedient of talking over the two men, keeping her voice calm and firm. She was rewarded with a moment of silence before Rodney's excited voice came back over the radio, the sound of his snapping fingers audible in the background.

"Of course! We can pass supports through the gap to Teyla and she can reinforce the structure from the inside! Jefferson, get over here! I need some of those collapsible.." Teyla tuned out Rodney's words as she realised he was no longer talking to her, his attention consumed by the details of his plan to shore up the ruined building from the inside.

"Teyla?"

"Yes, Carson?"

"Lt Masood should be with you in a moment with some medical supplies. He's going to pass them to you through the hole."

"Understood." She straightened gingerly from her uncomfortable crouch and stepped carefully over and around the heaped rubble towards the opening above, flinching into a crouch instinctively as somewhere nearby something groaned and snapped audibly, a rushing, tinkling sound announcing a shower of small pieces of debris falling somewhere within the rubble. She looked up from her crouched position to find Anari huddled in a similar posture, the child's eyes bright with fear. Teyla hurried over to her in a cautious half-crouch and knelt beside the frightened child to gather her into her arms. Anari trembled as Teyla held her close, the long hours of fear and loneliness taking their toll. Teyla ran a soothing hand over the little girl's soft, blonde hair as she spoke quietly into her radio.

"Lt Masood?"

"Yes, ma'am? I'm nearly at the entrance. I'll be with you in just a moment."

Teyla's voice was firm as she asked the young marine, "How much weight can you carry, Lieutenant?"

""I'm sorry?" She heard the voice both through her earpiece and from behind and above her and, looking over her shoulder, she found Lt Masood grinning tightly down at her from above.

"I have some supplies for you, courtesy of Dr Beckett." Before she could respond he was slipping a rucksack through the narrow gap where it swung slowly on a slim piece of rope as he carefully lowered it down towards the floor. Teyla rose smoothly to her feet, the child Anari still cuddled to her, and picked her way through the rubble until she was almost beneath the only entrance and exit to this cramped and dangerous space within the ruins of the house. Balancing Anari on one arm, her body tilted to rest the child's weight on one hip, she reached out and snagged the rucksack as it came within reach, setting it gently on the floor.

She lowered herself to kneel on the floor, setting Anari beside her, and used both hands to unfasten the rope from the bag of medical supplies. She was anxious to do what she could for John but there was little she could do until they could shore up the debris enough to allow her access to treat him and, in the meantime, he was not the only one who had been caught up in this disaster. With a quick glance at the exhausted, scared child beside her, she looked up at where Lt Masood waited for her to return the rope and asked him firmly, "Can you carry Anari with you to safety?"

Her request was unexpected and she could see the concern on his face. "My orders are to bring you these supplies and then return immediately to collect more equipment to pass to you.."

"I know." She spoke calmly, not wanting to frighten the child further, but her tone made it clear that this was not a request. "This child has been trapped alone down here for many hours, Lieutenant. She is tired and cold and hungry and she needs to be with her mother. She is small enough to fit through the gap if you lift her on your rope; can you safely bear her weight across the rubble?"

The young soldier nodded seriously, his expression softening as he regarded the forlorn little girl below him. "The harness and pulley system can cope with her weight as well as mine," he affirmed.

Teyla smiled and her words were heartfelt as she told Masood seriously, "Thank you." She turned to Anari to find the little girl watching her solemnly with large, tear-filled eyes. "We are going to get you out of here Anari and the nice Lt Masood up there is going to take you back to your mother." She kept her voice low and reassuring, speaking soothingly to the child as Anari looked upwards doubtfully at the hole above where Lt Masood waited, offering an encouraging wave to the little girl.

Teyla quickly formed the rope into a wide loop around the child and fastened it into a firm knot, all the while talking gently, calmly. "I need you to be brave for me just a little while longer. Lt Masood is going to need to lift you up to the gap up there so that he can reach you and lift you out of here. We're going to use this rope for you to sit on – just like a swing, Anari. You like swings, don't you? He's going to lift you up and I will hold on to you all the way up so you will be safe, Anari. Okay?"

The child nodded bravely, her eyes wide in fear, as Teyla settled the loop of the rope snugly under her legs and wrapped Anari's little hands around the tightly-fastened knot in the rope. "I need you to hold on tight for me, Anari. Hold on tight." She hugged the child to her one last time and then signalled silently to Masood. Keeping her hands around Anari's waist she kept the child's attention on her as the line slowly tautened and the little girl's feet left the floor. Smiling and talking all the while, Teyla slowly straightened as Masood pulled in the rope and Anari rose higher and higher towards the precarious ceiling above. Eventually, the child swung high enough to pull her out of Teyla's grasp and Anari's thin wail of fear echoed in the small, enclosed space but she held on tight to the rope, just as Teyla had asked her, and a moment later Masood reached in through the gap above and grabbed the child under her arms, smoothly lifting her from the rope seat and sliding her out through the hole in the ceiling. In the blink of an eye, Anari was gone from view.

Teyla felt a momentary pang at the child's absence, feeling suddenly very alone here in the gloom of the shattered house. But she was not alone and Colonel Sheppard needed her help; grabbing up the bag of medical supplies, she moved quickly to crouch beside her unconscious friend, calling Carson on the radio even as she began to unpack bandages, suture kits and bags of blood products from the rucksack.

"I have the supplies, Carson," she told him and his voice was thick with relief as he responded.

"Okay, love. The most important thing is to get an IV started; we've no way of knowing how much blood he's lost but the fact that he's in shock is a worrying sign and I want to at least start replacing what he's losing whilst we work on finding and treating the injury."

Teyla looked dubiously at the array of equipment she had unpacked from the rucksack; Carson had insisted that every member of Atlantis' off-world teams be given basic first aid training, including the protesting Dr McKay who had felt he had far better ways to spend his time than "being taught voodoo", until Carson had pointed out that, given Rodney's usual obsession with his health, he would have expected the physicist to take an active interest in acquiring knowledge designed to safeguard that same state of health. Carson had only gotten to number five on his list of minor conditions which could prove life-threatening if not treated properly in the field before Rodney had hurriedly agreed to the training session. Whereas those members of the expedition from Earth had required only a short session to learn the basics of triage and first aid, Carson had taken it upon himself to train Ronon and Teyla personally, taking the time to explain to them the unfamiliar Earth terms used to describe the body and its condition and to demonstrate the various pieces of equipment and how they should be used. Teyla prided herself on being a quick study and she had learnt well.. but she had never actually done what Carson was asking of her and the thought of attempting the unfamiliar process for the first time in such circumstances, with John's survival at stake, was daunting.

"Carson.." She found herself instinctively looking upwards at the small gap above, her only link with the world outside this cramped, gloomy space, as she spoke into the radio, her words hesitant, unsure.

The Scot's lilting brogue was warm and reassuring, filled with understanding, "Don't worry, Teyla. I'll talk you through every step of the way. You'll do fine."

She breathed out slowly and carefully, seeking for and finding strength from within. John needed her help and she would not fail him in this. Her voice was steadier as she told Carson, "Okay."

John's right arm was lost under the rubble, leaving his left arm as the only candidate for the IV. The situation was not ideal with John lying in a face down position but she lifted and rotated his arm enough to expose the underside of the arm and quickly fastened the tourniquet around his upper arm, following Carson's instructions as she pulled the strip of rubber tight and massaged John's arm, leaning forward and using the medical kit's pen flashlight to help illuminate the area as she searched carefully for a vein. Finding a likely candidate, she tapping repeatedly over the vein, just as Carson had shown her, and watched it distend and become more visible through the pale skin of John's arm.

Ripping open a sterile swab from the medical kit, she carefully cleaned the area around the vein, wiping away the dirt and plaster dust that coated John's skin. Concentrating on Carson's firm, reassuring voice, she opened up a sterile 20-gauge IV catheter and placed the needle against John's skin over the vein. "Tilt the needle slightly and make sure the vein is tightly anchored." She pulled down on the skin, holding the vein steady and, with a deep breath, slid the needle quickly into John's arm. The sense of relief was immense as blood spilled backwards into the catheter and she realised with a small rush of pride that she had done it; she had got the vein on her first attempt. Her hands were shaking a little from the release of tension as she carefully followed Carson's instructions and flashed back the chamber, removing the tourniquet and needle and quickly attaching an IV bag of type-specific blood, opening the valve wide to run the precious fluid into John's veins.

She was using tape to secure the catheter hub firmly against John's skin when a cheerful voice called from above and she looked up to see Lt Masood once again peering down at her from the entrance hole. "Got some more deliveries for you," he informed her as he carefully pushed another bag through the gap and began to lower it to the floor.

Teyla quickly checked John's pulse and airway and, happy that he remained stable for the moment, that the IV was patent and the blood transfusing steadily, she rose to her feet and moved to catch the slowly descending bag of supplies. In all, Lt Masood dropped three bags down into the cramped space before wishing her luck and disappearing from view, his footsteps crunching audibly on the debris as he clambered lightly back to safety.

"Teyla?" The radio clicked and Rodney's voice came through clearly, tight with impatience. "Do you have the equipment?"

"Yes, Rodney." She was carefully unpacking the bags as she spoke, lifting out an array of collapsible supports; sturdy metal tubes with wide, splayed legs to evenly distribute weight. As she examined the unfamiliar equipment, Rodney explained how the tubes extended telescopically and locked into place, allowing the wide top plate to be pushed firmly against any surface, forming a temporary support pillar capable of withstanding several a weight of up to several tonnes.

Setting the supports into place in the cramped confines of the ruined house was difficult and dangerous. Rodney and the team of engineers conferred with her across an open channel, she describing the placement of the debris and they suggesting the best spots to place the extending supports to help strengthen the unstable structure. The ruins creaked and groaned around her as she locked each support rod into place, plaster dust showering down into her hair, making her cough and rub her eyes. The floor was uneven and strewn with rubble, the ceiling of debris above her varying in height so that at times she was forced to crawl, pulling a metal support awkwardly along behind her. Time seemed to pass slowly and more than once she stopped in her work to check on Colonel Sheppard's condition, worried at the continued delay in treating him.

Placing supports to shore up the debris above and around the Colonel was especially important – and particularly difficult. The space was small and cramped and areas of the load-bearing wall and the levels above had already collapsed, resulting in the tangled pile of rubble that had partially buried John. Moving around in this delicate area, consciously careful not to jar or touch the unconscious man, was a slow, dangerous process and it was difficult to find clear, stable places in which to site the support rods. As she leant over John's body to lock a rod into position she felt it slip in her hands, sliding sideways as a section of the overhanging debris cracked and broke under the pressure, the support rod falling to the floor with a loud crash. She instinctively threw herself forward, covering John's body with her own as a shower of debris rained down from the unstable ceiling above, grunting in pain as something heavy impacted against her shoulder blade. She breathed tightly through the pain, coughing on the dust-choked air, the rushing, tinkling sound of dust and small stone fragments pouring down from above almost drowning out the frantic babble of voices in her ear as her team mates called her name desperately.

Gradually, the flow of dust and debris eased and, slowly and carefully, Teyla eased herself up from where she lay across John's unprotected back, pushing painfully back to kneel beside him, looking warily up at the unstable rubble above. It seemed to be holding steady for now and she coughed a couple of times, her mouth and throat gritty with dust, before croaking a response to her worried friends. "I am here."

"Oh, thank god!"

"What the hell happened?"

Carson's expression of relief was almost drowned out by Rodney's peremptory demand and Teyla allowed herself a small smile, knowing that the scientist's often abrasive nature concealed a depth of affection equal to Carson's. She brushed plaster dust from her hair and looked around her to locate the fallen support rod. "Part of the debris overhead broke away under the pressure of the support strut," she informed Rodney. "There was a minor collapse but it seems to be stable for now. The Colonel's condition remains unchanged." She leaned over to press her hand to John's neck as she spoke, confirming the truth of her words as she felt the flutter of his pulse under her fingers; still fast and weak but perhaps not quite so weak as before. She checked the IV bag and found it nearly empty.

"Are you okay, love?" Carson's queried as she pulled a second bag of type-specific blood from the bag of medical supplies and carefully set about changing over John's IV supply.

"I am fine, Carson," she replied, ignoring the twinge of pain in her shoulder as she connected the IV line to the new bag and opened the port wide. She couldn't help a sad smile as she realised that this was usually Colonel Sheppard's trick, ignoring his own injuries in order to help others, offering a standard reply of "I'm fine" to any queries about his own health. She checked John's condition once more before returning to her work, grimacing at the stab of pain as she was forced to stretch across John's unconscious body to retrieve the fallen support rod and lift it back into position.

It took another half hour of back-breaking work before the ruined building around her was shored up to Rodney's satisfaction and still the real task lay ahead of her; she needed to somehow lift and remove the rubble pinning Colonel Sheppard to the floor. Wiping sweat from her brow with a dusty, grimy hand, she knelt by John's side and carefully began to pull away the debris covering his body, one careful piece at a time.

It was slow, delicate work; the debris was a tangled jumble, shattered pieces of stone mixed in with broken wooden beams and jagged chunks of plaster, cascades of tiny stone fragments sliding and clattering over the surface of the rubble as she carefully worked each piece free. She focused her attention on clearing the debris covering John's torso and lower back, the area where John's clothes were sticky with blood. She found herself breathing heavily as she lifted heavy chunks of solid stone, sharp wooden shards where beams had snapped and splintered, awkward slabs of painted plaster that crumbled in her hands, shedding more fine dust into the air. It was hot and stuffy in the cramped space under the rubble and the dust was choking, making her eyes water and her breath catch in frequent coughing. Rodney and Carson were a constant, anxious presence, their voices crackling in her ear as they chattered to each other and to her, asking how it was going, asking if she was okay. Her responses were short and to the point, heat and physical exertion robbing her of the breath for idle chatter.

She felt an almost physical rush of adrenalin, a sudden revitalising burst of energy, as she pulled aside a piece of stonework and found the underside smeared with blood, both dark and drying and fresh and red; she was getting close. She worked quickly, her fingers sure and nimble and she dug carefully through the rubble, tossing aside more and more pieces of blood-stained debris until, finally, she strained to lift the edge of a heavy slab of stone and felt the warmth drain from her body as she caught her first glimpse of John's injuries. Her arms trembled with the strain and suddenly nerveless fingers struggled to keep a grip on the heavy, awkward chunk of stone. She twisted her torso to tilt the stone sideways and let it go with relief, uncaring of the loud crash as it hit the floor hard.

"Teyla?"

"What was that?"

Hours of fear and tension were evident in her friends' worried voices as they heard the loud noise echo over the radio. Teyla felt suddenly incredibly weary, a creeping sense of despair draining the energy from her limbs as she knelt beside John and regarded the injury her efforts had exposed.

"Teyla?"

She coughed harshly, her throat feeling dry and worn. "Carson, I have located the source of Colonel Sheppard's bleeding." She swallowed, trying to work some moisture into her mouth before continuing, "It does not look good."

"What does that mean? Not good?" There was an undertone of sharp fear in Rodney's voice and she could hear an echo of that same fear in the deliberate calm of Carson's quiet query.

"Can you describe the injury to me, Teyla?"

She sighed helplessly, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, and found that she was struggling to find the words to describe to Carson the full extent of what she saw before her; she could see blood welling slowly from the edges of John's wound, soaking into the fabric of his shirt, she could see the torn edges of flesh where his shirt had ripped. But the thing that captured all her attention, that drew her gaze helplessly and left an icy lump of fear in her chest, was the long, narrow spear of solid wood, a fragment of a much larger beam, that protruded from John's lower torso, impaling him, pinning him firmly to the floor.

* * *

_TBC..._


	7. Chapter 7

_As usual, my estimates of how long it will take to wrap up this fic were waaaaay off base. It's gonna be at least another one to two chapters after this one. sigh But anyway – hope you like this chapter.. and I'd better get cracking on the next one!!

* * *

_

It was the sound of a voice that awoke John. Consciousness was slow to return, filtering through in stages; hearing first, physical sensation a slow second. Memory and comprehension took their sweet time and were fuzzy at best.

Someone was talking nearby but the words didn't make any sense. They stopped and started, as though waiting for a response – from whom? From him? – but none came. And then the words would start up again. He stayed still for a while, letting the words wash over him, listening but not comprehending. Physical sensation crept into his awareness in the form of a kind of dull numbness, a comprehensive sort of not-quite ache. He realised distantly that he felt strangely heavy, lethargic, his body's processes slowed and sluggish. Discomfort was slow to seep through the blanketing numbness but he gradually became aware of a heavy pressure on the lower half of his body and an uncomfortable chill that seemed to seep right to his very bones.

The voice in the background continued to talk as the world slowly slotted back into place. He realised that his head was throbbing, realised that he was lying face down on an uneven surface, his cheek pressed against what felt like cold stone, and realised, eventually, that the voice belonged to Teyla. His head felt thick and heavy, his thoughts foggy, and he struggled to focus on her words, to make some sense of this situation. Meaning came through to him in snatches, words taken out of context; bleeding, wood, Carson, worried, torso, impaled… wait, Carson? Carson was here? He couldn't hear another voice. Only Teyla. Where was Carson?

He tried to speak, to ask, to understand, but he couldn't seem to move, his body an unfamiliar vessel that failed to respond to his controls. His lips parted but no sound came out.

The tone of Teyla's voice changed, becoming a sharp command, and something moved nearby.

"John? Can you hear me, John?" Her voice was closer now, louder, and he felt a whisper of air, a sigh of breath across his cheek. She sounded almost frightened and he had never heard fear in Teyla's voice before. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that he could hear her, but the words wouldn't come. His throat worked soundlessly. "John?" There was an undercurrent now in her voice, a tremor that spoke of concern and of… hope?

The numbness was slipping away from him now, the world around him taking on sharper edges and angles as awareness washed over him. He was becoming vaguely aware that he hurt.. almost everywhere in fact. It was a dull, aching kind of hurt and for a moment he wished he could remain wrapped up in the easy numbness; increasing awareness brought with it increasing pain, becoming less dull by the moment. His thoughts cleared enough for him to begin to wonder why he was lying here like this, why he was so cold, why everything was starting to hurt.

"I think he's waking up. John?"

He breathed in through dry lips, and suddenly he was choking, the air thick with a dust that coated his mouth and throat and irritated his lungs. He coughed harshly and suddenly there was no more numbness, no more dull ache. The involuntarily cough reflex achieved what he could not; his body moved and with that movement came sharp, angry pain, an agony unlike anything he had known, spearing into him somewhere around his midriff and radiating outwards like angry fingers of fire, burning trails of hot, vicious pain up his back to explode in his brain. His body reacted instinctively, tension tightening his limbs, his jaw clenching, muffling the scream that he couldn't hold back.

* * *

Teyla couldn't tear her eyes from the spear of broken wood that protruded from John's flesh. Even as she spoke with Carson over the radio, doing her best to stay calm and to describe John's condition as clearly and precisely as possible, her mind kept wandering, her gaze noting every detail of the horrific injury in a kind of detached, horrified fascination. McKay's voice had been sick, his "Oh god.." an exclamation of despair, as she had told he and Carson that John was impaled on a piece of the rubble. Carson had been shocked and for a moment she'd heard his voice waver, the same fear that curdled in her own stomach evident in his breathless response, before his determination and the fierce caring he showed for his patients had leant calm strength to his words. Never more strong-willed and efficient than when lives were are stake, Carson had stayed on the radio, his voice softening a moment as he had asked if she were alright, and immediately begun discussing with her their options for dealing with the Colonel's injury. As they spoke, Teyla found herself focusing on his words, drawing strength from them, and she became aware of the sick feeling in her stomach lessening a little. She realised with surprise that she was shaking ever so slightly and she frowned, breathing out slowly, forcing her muscles to relax. She recognised with a slight smile the symptoms of shock… and that Carson's calm, confident words had been as much a deliberate course of treatment for one patient as a very real discussion of what to do to help another.

She leaned over John's limp body as she spoke with Carson, knowing he needed as much information as possible about John's injuries. Kneeling beside her friend, bracing one arm carefully on the floor on the other side of his body, she leaned in to peer closely at the protruding shaft of wood, describing to Carson the size and location of the wound, the dimensions of the piece of wood, the amount of blood oozing slowly from the ragged hole in John's flesh. She leaned as far over as she dared, pressing her face close to the floor in an attempt to see if the spear of wood had pierced through to the floor below, but without moving him it was impossible to know for sure.

She sat back on her heels and brushed her hair back from her face with a dusty hand, a weary sigh on her lips. The toll of hours of fear and worry was starting to tell on her and an empty ache in her stomach reminded her that it had been many hours since she had last eaten. Carson was talking almost to himself, running through in his mind the process by which they would need to stabilise John's injury, and despite his calm practicality, she knew that John's injury was grave and, under the circumstances, posed a very real concern.

The chatter of Carson's words in her ear was such that she almost missed hearing it; the tiniest of sounds, a mere exhalation of breath. "Hush, Carson!" she commanded, tension tightening her chest as she held herself still, her ears straining to catch the slightest noise. Nothing. She crawled closer to John's head and, as she leant towards him, she saw the faintest tremor run up his back, a mere shivering of muscles but an indication nonetheless of a return to consciousness. Her heart in her mouth, she leaned over him, searching his face for any sign of awareness. "John? Can you hear me, John?"

His face was still and pale and for a moment she thought she was mistaken but then his eyelids fluttered minutely and a faint frown creased his brow. She found herself smiling, hope warring with the terrible fear that still tied her stomach in knots. She watched as his throat worked silently, his lips parting on another quiet exhalation. He was awake it seemed, though not fully aware.

"Teyla, love. What's happening?" Impatience tightened Caron's voice, his words heavy with frustration at being separated from his patient, unable to see, unable to help.

"I think he's waking up," she told him simply, her attention focused on John's pale face, his expression drawn and confused as he struggled towards consciousness. He seemed only minimally aware of his surroundings and she wasn't sure if he was even aware of her presence. "John?"

His throat worked again as though her were trying to speak and his lips parted to draw in a sudden breath. And then his body was jerking as a rasping cough shook him and, in an instant, his entire body tensed, a muffled scream ripped from him as his lungs continued to spasm, the cough reflex shaking his torso, the motion jarring his injury.

"John! You need to stay still!" She leaned over him urgently, her hand on his shoulder, trying to reach him, to ground him, as he continued to cough, a thin keening sound escaping his tightly-clenched teeth. "You must remain calm, John. You are injured and you must stay still!" His features were screwed up in pain, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, leaving glistening tracks through the coating of dust on his face. Her heart ached for him as she watched helplessly as he struggled with the pain. Rarely had she seen him so exposed, so vulnerable. For reasons best known to himself, John routinely hid his pain, always showing a brave face to the world, and only once before had she seen his features so twisted in agony, heard him cry out from pain. She looked on in despair as he continued to shudder agonisingly, coughs shaking his weakened body, pulling and jerking him against the shard of wood lodged in his flesh. Staring at the shattered beam protruding from his torso, she realised with horror that, as John's body shook, the piece of wood did not; it remained immobile, solid, and that could only mean one thing – it had penetrated right through John's vulnerable flesh to lodge in the floor beneath him. He was truly impaled, pinned into place by the wooden spear.

"What's happened? What's wrong?"

"Teyla, what's happening?"

Carson and Rodney's voices were loud in her ear, their words tangling together, panic and fear evident in their voices. "He moved," she cried miserably. "The dust in the air has made him cough and his movements are pulling at his wound. He is in pain!"

She could hear the desperation in her own words as she held onto John's trembling shoulders, Rodney's despairing curses almost drowning out Carson's advice, his voice worried yet firm, "If you can do anything to immobilise him, Teyla…"

She tightened her grip on John's shoulders, leaning across him to speak into his ear, trying to make him understand. She felt close to tears herself as she begged him, "John, you must remain still!" Desperately, she laid her body across his, pinning him with her weight, trying to hold him still until the paroxysm passed. Although he continued to cough weakly, the pressure of her body across his torso prevented him from moving and pulling at his wound and slowly his cries of pain lessened. She stayed where she was until he stopped coughing, lying pressed against him, listening as the coughing faded into a stuttering hiccupping and finally, shallow, rapid breathing. She rose cautiously to her hands and knees, anxious not to in any way jar him or cause him any more pain. He was still now beneath her, his body still tense; the only sound in the small, cramped enclosure was his quiet, shuddering breaths.

"Teyla?"

"Yes, Carson." Her voice sounded breathy, shaken, even to her own ears.

"How is he?"

She regarded John's still form dubiously. "The coughing has stopped and his pain appears to have eased," she reported. "I believe he is awake but he does not appear to be responsive." She leaned gingerly over John's body, trying to see more clearly but his face was hidden from view, turned away from her; all she could see was the side of his head and his shock of messy, dust-coated hair. "I need to get a closer look. Stand by, Carson."

Moving carefully, she rose to a crouch and stepped delicately around John's prone form, squeezing herself into the too-narrow space between his head and the piled and shored-up debris. As she crouched beside him, able now to see his face, she realised that his eyes were open, staring ahead vacantly, his lips parted as he breathed carefully and shallowly, his body held tensely. His face was ashen beneath the layer of dust and his features were drawn with pain.

"John?" She hunkered down as far as she could, tilting her head sideways as she tried to move into his line of sight, to capture his attention. "John, it is Teyla." He reacted sluggishly, his gaze unfocused as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. She reached out a hand to gently brush the plaster dust from his cheek, his fingers smoothing away the damp tracks of his tears. He was still, unmoving, under her touch, his body still held tensely, afraid to move for fear of the pain that would follow. He breathed shallowly through parted lips that looked dry and cracked, coated with dust. Frowning slightly, she looked around the small, gloomy space for the supplies that Carson had sent her; other than the supplies she had used immediately to treat John, she had packed everything else back into the rucksack and placed it securely to one side whilst she had worked to stabilise the ruins. Pushing carefully upright, she once again picked her way gingerly around and across the debris until she could open the bag and pull out some sterile wipes, the pen flashlight and the canteen of water.

"Carson?"

"Yes, love?"

"He is awake but seems confused. He does not answer me when I speak."

"Okay. Okay." Carson's voice was determinedly calm, thoughtful, as he considered their options. "Just give him some time, lass. He's got a probable concussion and he's just woken up to a lot of pain. He's probably feeling a wee bit shell-shocked right now. Talk to him, see if you can get him to come around."

Rodney's voice broke in on the channel, his words clipped and impatient. "Can't you just knock him out or something while we deal with the slightly more important issue of the great big _spike_ stuck through his chest? The plan is supposed to be to get him _out_ of there.."

"No, Rodney, we can't just knock him out! He's suffered a head injury and is in hypovolaemic shock with dangerously low blood pressure. The last thing he needs right now is any kind of sedative! So how about you leave the doctoring to me and you concentrate on the engineering?…" Teyla refrained from commenting, leaving them to their argument, knowing that their sharp words stemmed from stress and tension and concern for their friend, rather than any real animosity.

When she crouched beside John again his condition was unchanged, his eyes open but unfocused, his breathing shallow and tight. With a gentle touch she brushed the gritty dust from his lips and carefully unstoppered the canteen, holding it awkwardly to his lips. "John? Here, drink some water. It will help clear the dust from your throat and stop you from coughing." She tipped the canteen and water trickled over his lips, spilling onto the floor. She frowned. "John, it is Teyla. I need you to drink some water for me." She tilted the canteen further and more water splashed onto the floor, some of it now spilling into his mouth and, after a moment, he swallowed instinctively.

"That's good, John." She let a little more water flow into his mouth, seeing his throat work as he swallowed, and then lifted the canteen away, restoppering it carefully. The water seemed to revive him a little and he sighed softly, his gaze sharpening a little, his eyes wandering somewhat until they slowly focused in on her.

"..yla?" His voice was dry and cracked, the first syllable of her name a soundless movement of his lips, but he was awake and aware and he recognised her. She felt a wash of relief warm her, a smile breaking out on her face.

"Yes, John. I am here."

He frowned, the look of confusion on his pale face making him look younger, almost childlike. "Wha' happened?" His words were a slurred whisper, his eyelids already drooping heavily.

"There was an accident. Do you remember? A roundwind hit the village." She struggled for a moment, searching her memory for the unfamiliar word he and Rodney had used. "A… a tornado," she recalled suddenly. "The building you took shelter in was hit and you are trapped in the rubble."

John seemed to be following her words, his eyes focused on her face, and his frown suddenly cleared, the look of drowsy confusion chased away by an expression of urgency and concern. His voice had more strength as he rasped, "There.. there was a child! She was left behind…" He started to move, his shoulder tensing as he tried to pull his right arm free of the rubble, and his face twisted as pain rippled through him.

"She is fine!" Her hand on his arm stopped his movements and she leaned forward, her gaze capturing his earnestly. "There is no need for concern, John. The child is well. You saved her." She smiled warmly, "She is with her mother even now."

He sagged beneath her touch, tension draining from his muscles. "She is?" His voice was uncertain, pain still drawing sharp lines on his face.

"She is fine. Our concern now is for you," she told him firmly. His eyelids were drooping again, fluttering over his eyes as he seemed to drift for a moment.

"Me?" he mumbled drowsily. "Wha's wrong with me?"

His voice was faint now and she leant forward hurriedly, a hand on his cheek trying to rouse him. His skin felt cool under her touch. "John? Stay with me, John!" she commanded. He started slightly, his breath stuttering in his chest, and a frown creased his face.

"Hurts.." he muttered faintly.

"I know," she agreed quietly, trying to fill her voice with warmth and reassurance. "I know it hurts. But we will get you out of here. I just need you to stay awake for me, John."

"Mmmkay.." He was drifting again, his eyelids heavy, struggling to hold on to consciousness.

"Carson?" She ripped open one of the packets of sterile wipes as she spoke, pulling out the cool, damp cloth and pressing it to John's forehead as Carson's voice crackled in her ear.

"How is he?"

John stirred minutely as she used the wipe to gently clean the thick coating of dust from his face, the cool cloth seeming to revive him a little.

"He is conscious, Carson but he appears drowsy and I am struggling to keep him awake. He has been able to communicate but his memory of what has happened to him seems confused at best."

"Can you check his pupils for me, love?"

Remembering the pen flashlight stashed in her pocket, she scolded herself silently for not thinking to do so earlier. She had seen Carson shining his penlight in people's eyes often enough, and in his triage training with she and Ronon, the doctor had explained the reasons for the simple test and what she should look for. She smoothed the cool wipe one last time across John's brow before setting it aside and digging the flashlight from her pocket. She flicked the switch and the thin beam of light pierced the gloom of the enclosed space, dancing briefly across the rubble of the floor above. Still crouched awkwardly in the cramped space beside John's head, she reached down and gently pulled up one eyelid, flicking the light quickly across the pupil and back again, just as Carson had shown her. John groaned quietly in protest at the intrusion but made no attempt to move or to escape her attentions. His lack of reaction worried her; though he would regularly make light of often serious injuries, John hated being poked and prodded and tested in the infirmary and would grumble and protest every time Carson produced his penlight.

He stirred woozily as she gently slid a hand under his cheek and lifted his head slightly to allow her to check the other eye. His eyelid stayed open when she let go of it and she found him regarding her sleepily. "Hi, Teyla."

She laid his head down carefully and he frowned as his gaze moved beyond her to the shattered pile of rubble that filled this corner of the lower floor of the building. "What happened here?" His voice sounded a little stronger now but his question caused a flutter of fear in her stomach.

"There was a.. a tornado, John. Do you not remember?" His frown deepened and the fear hardened and solidified; her concern was not that he did not recall the roundwind hitting the village but that he seemed not to remember her telling him about it only moments ago.

"Is everybody okay?" With that question, he seemed almost his usual self, always thinking of others, more concerned about his team than himself. It would have been reassuring had she not already had a variant of this conversation with him so very recently.

"We are all fine," she assured him. "Everybody made it to the shelters except you."

His eyelids were already sinking as she spoke and she doubted he had even heard her reponse.

"Carson?"

"Yes, Teyla?"

She couldn't keep the tremor of worry from her voice as she updated Carson on the situation; as if John's injury were not enough, it was becoming clear that the blow to his head sustained in the building collapse was adding further complications to the situation. "His pupils are reactive but unequal and his short-term memory is confused. He does not recall a conversation we had only moments ago," she admitted.

"Bloody hell." Carson's curse was tight with frustration and she knew that, had it been in any way possible, he would have climbed the rubble, regardless of his own safety, and joined her in this dark and stuffy place. She was beginning to be very afraid that John needed more medical care than she, even with the skills Carson had taught her, could possibly provide him. "Well, he's definitely got a concussion. Try your best to keep him awake, Teyla, and to keep him talking. Rodney, we need to find a way to get him out of there, _now_. He needs medical attention, sooner rather than later."

McKay's voice was impatient, bordering on angry. "We're working on a way to do just that, Carson, but I think the larger problem here is how we're going to be able to move him at all when he's impaled on something!"

"Leave that to me." There was a certain grim certainty in Carson's words that did nothing to quell Teyla's concerns that her abilities, such as they were, were not up to the task ahead of her.

"Carson.."

"Don't worry, lass. You're doing great." As perceptive as ever, Carson's lilting brogue was coloured with warmth as he reassured her. "The Colonel's damn lucky to have you around." Even across the radio, she could hear the gentle smile in his voice and it made an answering smile tug at her lips.

As she looked again at the thick splinter that protruded from John's torso however, her doubts continued to plague her; with his body still half buried in the rubble and the solid piece of wood pinning him firmly in place, she could not envisage how they – she - would possibly be able to free him.

"How are we to move him?" she questioned worriedly. "I believe the piece of wood has penetrated entirely through his body and to the floor below; he is pinned in place, Carson."

"I know, love." She found herself watching John's eyelids flutter as he drifted restlessly on the edge of consciousness, Carson's voice firm yet resigned in her ear as he told her, "We have only one choice. We cannot remove the foreign object, that'd likely kill him, so we'll have to bring it out with him."

"We're going to have to cut through the beam."

* * *

_TBC… _


	8. Chapter 8

_At long last - an update! We're getting down to the nitty gritty of the whumpage in this chapter - don't say you weren't warned! And whooo boy, it's a long one!! One more chapter to go on this fic... with any luck._

_All feedback/reviews/thoughts welcome._

* * *

Teyla had never been so relieved to see Carson.

After such a long time spent in the shadowed gloom of the ruined building, the sudden influx of bright sunlight was blindingly bright, leaving her blinking, bringing a hand up to shade her eyes as the hole in the wall grew slowly bigger, spilling more and more light into the cramped space. The engineers worked quickly but carefully, setting stout supports into place as they removed part of the remaining external wall stone by stone, essentially creating a doorway where once had been solid wall. As soon as the gap was even marginally big enough to allow entry into the building, the warm sunlight was blocked out as a figure moved into view, squeezing carefully through the narrow gap, bent low at the waist to duck through the small entrance. The bright light from outside cast a halo around his shape, casting his features into darkness, but even without being able to properly see his face, Teyla breathed a sigh of relief.

"Carson."

"Aye, love." Never had there been a more welcome sound than that familiar, lilting voice. As Carson picked his way across the debris-strewn floor towards her, the engineers continued their work, the gap in the wall slowly growing wider and taller, and sunlight once again illuminated the space under the rubble, revealing the mixture of relief and concern on the doctor's expressive face.

He cast her a reassuring smile as he joined her at John's side, stooping to set his medical kit on the ground before dropping carefully to his knees, his every movement smooth and efficient as he quickly began to assess his patient, his hands moving with assurance even as he asked her quietly, "How's my patient?"

The long hours of worry and fear had taken their toll on Teyla, her voice cracking even as she struggled for composure. "I fear he is growing weaker," she admitted. "He has been drifting in and out of consciousness but it becomes harder to rouse him." She swallowed thickly, the taste of her own fear bitter in her mouth.

Carson looked up from his task, his gaze at once sympathetic and all-too knowing. "And how are you holding up?" he questioned shrewdly.

"I am fine," her demurral was instinctive. Truth be told she was tired and aching, weary from hours of tension and concern, her back and elbows scraped and skinned and her shoulder throbbing from the impact of falling debris; all of which paled in comparison to John's desperate situation. Her aches and pains were a small price to pay in exchange for John's life and she would bear them without complaint. There would be time enough later for such minor concerns; right now, John needed Carson's undivided attention.

With a tight smile that told Teyla that he wasn't fooled for a second, Carson turned his focus back to John and Teyla found herself watching with trepidation as he moved to examine the stout shard of wood pinning the injured man in place. Carson's hands were sure and gentle as he delicately peeled the edges of blood-soaked fabric back from around the wound, leaning forward over John's body to closely examine the injury, his gloved fingers lightly palpating the swollen, damaged flesh. Delicate though his touch was, John's reaction was immediate, his body stiffening involuntarily as he jerked to wakefulness with a smothered cry. Carson grimaced at John's pained reaction and, as he rose quickly to his feet, Teyla could see on his expressive face the deep concern for his patient, the depth of empathy that made him such a committed, caring healer.

Whilst Rodney and Carson had planned how to cut John free of the debris pinning him in place, whilst the team of engineers had discussed the best way to extract a critically injured patient from the unstable ruins of the house, Teyla had made use of the time to continue to move as much of the rubble as she could from around and on top of John, beginning to uncover his lower torso and legs and clearing space around his head and shoulders so that it was easier to reach him, to try and capture his attention during his periods of wakefulness. It was in that cleared space that Carson now carefully knelt, peering into John's face as he placed a calming hand on the man's shoulder.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

John's breathing was laboured, rasping harshly in his throat, and his right arm, freed from the rubble, scrabbled convulsively at the dust-covered floor and as he coughed harshly, a weak groan escaping him. John's obvious distress pulled at Teyla, tightening the cold ache of fear in her chest as she leaned forward, the muscles in his back thrumming beneath her touch as she tried to comfort him. His face was turned from her, Beckett crouching low to lean into his line of sight, trying to capture John's attention, much as she had done when he had first awoken, but she could see enough to know that John's eyes were squeezed shut, his face a mask of pain. For a long moment he showed no awareness of their presence, of Carson's touch on his shoulder, her hesitant hand on his trembling torso, and she could hear the same heavy fear that she had carried in her heart for what felt like days weighing in Carson's voice, his tone becoming insistent as he struggled to rouse the suffering man.

"Colonel Sheppard! It's Carson. Can you hear me, son?"

John's face was drawn into a frown as he struggled with the pain, his attention focused inwards. His eyes were still clenched shut.

Teyla's earpiece crackled and Rodney's impatient voice came over the open channel. "Carson? How's he doing?"

"I've only just gotten here, Rodney. I'll tell you as soon as I know anything." Carson's response was deliberately calm but she could see the impatience written on his face and he reached up to switch off his radio before Rodney could respond.

"John. It's Carson, son. I know it hurts but I need you to be strong for me. We're going to get you out of here.." Carson's hands were busy as he spoke, pressing against John's neck to check his pulse, brushing the dust-coated hair from his forehead as he laid the back of his hand against John's skin. When he gently raised an eyelid to test for pupil reactions, John flinched away from the light, grunting his displeasure. He came back to awareness slowly, groggily, and his voice, when he spoke, was cracked, shaky, and disturbingly weak.

"..arson?"

Teyla breathed a sigh of relief and Carson's face creased into a relieved smile as he patted John gently on the shoulder, the physical contact helping to ground John as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. "Aye lad, it's me. Seems you've gotten yourself into a sorry mess this time, eh?"

"Sorr..reee…" John's eyes were glassy, his eyelids already drooping, and Carson snapped his fingers before John's face, trying to keep his attention as he continued his careful assessment of his patient's condition.

"Don't be so silly, son. Nothing to apologise for. In fact, it's we who should be apologising for taking so long to get you out of this less than cosy spot, eh?" Carson's voice was a little strained, the levity sounding forced. "Stay with me, John." He snapped his fingers again, John frowning at the intrusive sound. "Can you tell me where it hurts?"

John's frown deepened, pain making his face drawn and pinched. His skin was pale, so pale, under its coating of dust and for the first time since Teyla had met him, seen him for the strong, capable warrior he was, John seemed to her eyes to be fragile, his injuries seeming to leech away his life and vitality as she watched.

He licked at dry lips as he struggled to focus on Carson's question and Teyla reached for the canteen of water, handing it to Carson before he could ask. It was warm in the cramped confines of the ruined building, the air still and stifling, and she brushed sweat-dampened hair back from her forehead with a weary hand as Carson carefully trickled a little water into John's mouth.

The fluid seemed to revive him a little and Carson quickly set the canteen aside, a firm hand on John's shoulder accompanying his mild admonishment to stay still as John tried to lift his head. "No, no, Colonel. Don't try to move."

"'kay.." John's voice was dry and scratchy, so quiet that Teyla could barely understand him.

"We're going to get you out of here. Okay? Now you've got a bit of a nasty injury to your abdomen but I need to know if you're hurt anywhere else. I need you to tell me if you have any pain, John, any pain at all, no matter how small."

John was silent for a long moment, frowning in confusion as he struggled to concentrate. He swallowed thickly. "Hurts everywhere," he whispered tiredly. "My side…" he sucked in a shaky breath, pain sharpening his features. "

"I know, son. I know." Carson rubbed his hand soothingly on John's shoulder.

Teyla found herself holding her breath, feeling a kind of desperation building in her as she watched John suffer, helpless to ease his pain. It seemed like they'd been trapped in this cramped, dusty space for an eternity, and they seemed to be no further forward; John was still trapped in the rubble, still weak and in pain, and she felt the pressure of passing time keenly, like a heavy weight at the back of her beck, weighing on her, crushing her spirit. She had been clinging on to hope for so long but it seemed to her now that every minute that passed was eroding their chances that John would survive this. She wanted to scream her frustration, to yell at Carson that they were wasting time, that they needed to get John out of here, right now.

She took a deep, deliberate breath, trying to ease the tension from her body. She was tired and dirty and aching and, now that Carson had taken over caring for John, she was left without a focus, able only to look on helplessly, and the all stress and worry of the day's events caught up to her, fuelling her impatience. It was hard to let go of the terrible tension that had been her constant companion in the hours spent in this cramped, dark space, with John's survival depending on her actions alone as she sought to stabilise his condition, to shore up the ruins to allow for the rescue attempt. Deep in her heart she knew that Carson would do whatever was necessary to help John, and she put her faith in that, forcing herself to let go of the responsibility for John's life, handing that burden over to Carson and trusting in him to get John out of here, to get him home.

Nevertheless, her heart was in her throat as she strained to hear John's whispered words.

"Head. S'pounding..." His eyelids drooped tiredly, his words slurring, and Carson leant forward, bending closer to listen. "Left leg… hurts…"

"Stay with me, John!" Carson snapped his fingers, trying to force John to focus. "Is that everything? Does anywhere else hurt?"

John's response was mumbled, "Donthinkso…"

Carson sat back on his heels with a sigh as John's eyes fluttered closed. He met Teyla's eyes across the body of their injured friend and for a moment she could clearly read the desperate worry in his gaze. Then he abruptly turned away, his expression setting into one of concentration as he looked down at John, considering and assessing his condition, and Teyla felt a flush of relief that bordered on physical warmth as she watched him focus entirely on the urgent question of how to rescue John from his crumbling, unstable prison.

Reading the determination on Carson's face fortified her spirit, gave her the strength to refute the dreadful, insistent fear that this ruined shell of a building would prove to be John's tomb. Written on her friend's face was irrefutable proof that he would never, ever give up on John, not while he still had breath in his body. They would get John out of here. They would make him whole again. She held onto that belief with a fervour that was nothing short of desperate.

"Okay," Carson breathed heavily." We need to get him out of here right now."

He rose carefully to his feet, hunched over in the cramped space, and stepped gingerly around John's unconscious form to crouch again at Teyla's side. "We're going to have to cut through the beam that's pinning him in place," he told her, his expression grave. "He's relatively stable for now but the sooner I get him into surgery the better and there may be other injuries we're not aware of…" He cast a quick glance over the shattered rubble that still partially hid John's legs, adding worriedly, "He mentioned pain in his left leg…"

Behind them, the engineers continued to work on widening the crude doorway into the ruins of the broken house. The air was thick with dust, the swirling motes visible in the shaft of warm sunlight that that pierced the gloom, showers of crumbled plaster dust sifting from the wall as more and more stones were carefully worked free of the structure, expandable supports being set into place to countermeasure the weakening of the load-bearing wall. Carson's hair was gritty with dust and he coughed a little, a hand over his mouth, as he moved carefully to the improvised doorway to confer with the engineers. Teyla could hear Rodney's sharp voice in the background, demanding details of John's condition, and Ronon's basso rumble too. She remained crouched beside John, a gentle hand on his torso providing reassurance that life still pulsed within him, his shallow breaths perceptible in the minute rise and fall of his chest beneath her palm. Fatigue nagged at her and she realised that she had lost track of how much time had passed since the tornado hit, how many hours she had passed here in the hot, close confines of the wrecked house.

The sunlight, haloing around Carson as he stood in the growing opening in the wall, had changed, she realised distantly, the bright warmth of afternoon sunshine cooling and fading into early evening. The day's end was approaching. The thought of John remaining trapped in this prison as the sun set and the coolness of night leeched the heat from their cramped enclosure was intolerable. They needed to get him out of here quickly.

Carson moved with quick surety as he picked his way back through the rubble towards her and she found herself reenergised by his strength of purpose. She brushed a strand of gritty, sweat-dampened hair back from her face as the doctor crouched once more beside her.

"The opening is nearly wide enough to get a stretcher through," he informed her briskly. "We need to clear the rest of the debris and get ready to move him."

He was moving even as he spoke, leaning over John with a hand pressed briefly to his throat to check his pulse, taking a moment to check the IV, before turning to the tumbled debris still partly covering John's legs. Teyla followed his lead, buoyed up by Carson's quiet determination, and between them they began to carefully lift and move aside the chunks of cracked and broken stone, the snapped and splintered struts and beams. It was hot, uncomfortable work, the cramped space making it difficult to manoeuvre the unwieldy debris. Teyla's skin felt gritty and dirty, coated with plaster dust, sticky with sweat. Her hair hung limply, clinging wetly to the skin at the nape of her neck, and her muscles trembled with fatigue as she strained to lift heavy pieces of debris. Yet she was uncaring of any discomfort; her only thought, her only goal, to clear the rubble as quickly and safely as possible, to free John.

Twice the building around them shifted and groaned as they pulled debris aside, bringing work to a momentary halt as they cringed instinctively, their eyes drawn irresistibly to the support beams holding back the weight of the rubble above them. For a long moment the only sound was the hiss of plaster dust sifting down from the precarious tangle of the upper floors. The structure held and they breathed a nervous sigh of relief as they returned to their task, working the debris carefully free of the pile one piece at a time.

"Hold it!"

Teyla stilled at Carson's sharp command, her grip tightening reflexively on one end of an unwieldy slab of stone.

"Can you manage for a moment?" Carson asked her quickly, his brow furrowed in concern. She nodded shortly.

"I can hold it," she assured him, settling her grip more firmly. She felt her muscles tighten under the strain as the weight of the slab settled more heavily into her hands as Carson released his hold on it. She set her jaw and leant into the pressure, holding the heavy stone clear of John's body as Carson twisted in the narrow space, bending at an uncomfortable angle to peer into the gap left by the lifted slab.

"I think there's…just a moment…" He bent at an impossible-looking angle to slip a hand into the gap. Teyla's arms began to tremble minutely.

"Dammit." Carson's curse was heartfelt, frustration colouring his voice. "It looks like his leg's broken and there's definitely bleeding from somewhere…" He grunted with effort as he struggled to reach further into the narrow gap.

"Shit." Carson's jerked his hand back quickly as John twitched suddenly with a strangled cry of pain. The movement startled Teyla and she had to catch herself as the heavy stone wobbled briefly.

"John?" A shudder ran through his limp body but he did not respond to Teyla's call.

Carson's expression was unhappy as he reached carefully back under the slab. "I think it's a compound fracture," he muttered, and Teyla wasn't quite sure if he was speaking to her or merely talking to himself. Her muscles were beginning to burn with the strain and her voice was tight as she warned, "Carson…"

"Oh god! I'm sorry, love!" He snapped out of his absorption with a jerk and pulled his hand free to grab hold of his end of the slab and lift. Teyla grimaced as the pressure eased a little.

"Okay. We need to move this very carefully, Teyla." Carson was shifting his stance awkwardly as he spoke, bringing one foot up beside his knee in a half-crouch and leaning forward slightly. "The underside of the slab is uneven and sharp in places and the Colonel has a probable open fracture of his left leg. We need to lift up and away from his legs before we move this piece."

She nodded her understanding and began to mirror Carson's posture, rising a little unsteadily to a half crouch, letting her leg muscles begin to take some of the weight of the slab. Slowly, carefully, watching each other for any sign of difficulty, they straightened, lifting the heavy chunk of stone between them. Carson's face showed the strain of the slab's weight and Teyla was painfully aware of the growing trembling of her arm muscles, the trickle of sweat between her shoulder blades.

Sheppard moaned a little as the slab lifted up from the rubble. It took more strength than Teyla had ever thought she possessed to hold the cracked and broken stone steady as Carson very carefully stepped over John's body, bringing the large chunk of debris clear of John's legs. As they moved to lower the slab to the ground, Teyla's arms began to physically shake and the uneven surface of the chunk of stone slipped from her grip. The slab hit the ground with a resounding crack, narrowly missing her and Carson's feet as they jerked clear.

"I am sorry!" The impact had raised a puff of gritty dust and Teyla coughed, struggling to catch her breath as the muscles in her arms and back ached at the release in tension.

"Carson? Teyla?! What's happening in there?" The opening in the wall was blocked by a silhouetted figure and Teyla recognised Rodney's anxious voice.

"We're fine, Rodney." Carson's tone was deliberately calm and reassuring, soothing Rodney's panic. "Just get me that stretcher in here, as soon as you can."

He turned to Teyla, his eyes full of concern. "Are you alright, love? Do you need a break?"

She lifted her chin stubbornly at that. "No. I am fine." She would not desert John now, not after so long, not when they were so close. Carson gave her a long look but she saw understanding and empathy in those warm blue eyes; she knew he understood that she was determined to see this through, that she would not leave John's side until he was free.

With a wordless pat on her shoulder, Carson moved past her, crouching once more beside John, taking a moment to check his vitals. Teyla hovered nearby, making her own visual check of John's condition, noting his pallor, the shallow rise and fall of his chest, the frown of pain pulling at his brow even in unconsciousness. He had barely roused when Carson had touched his injured leg; they were running out of time.

His checks completed, Carson moved back to the task of freeing John's legs and Teyla followed, unavoidably aware of the added urgency to Carson's movements. It took another 10 minutes or more of hard work, Teyla's tired muscles beginning to protest more loudly with every lift and pull, for them to clear enough of John's legs for Carson to be able to get decent enough access to be able to examine the break. There was little enough to see at first; just the dust-covered black fabric of John's BDU's and an odd, unnatural angle to his leg… there was a visible sideways bend to his lower leg, a few inches below the knee.

Carson stepped carefully over John's limp body to crouch at her side, a gloved hand running carefully down John's crooked leg, feeling for damage. Absorbed in his work, he didn't look up as he asked her for his medical kit, murmuring to himself, "I need to get a proper look at this."

She returned to his side in an ungainly crouch, the large carry box held before her, and set it down within Carson's reach, watching with trepidation as Carson opened up the kit and withdrew a pair of scissors. His movements were sure and delicate as he cut a long slit through the dirty fabric of John's pants. As he peeled the edges of the fabric apart Teyla realised that the BDUs were sticking to John's leg, the dark fabric damp with blood. She couldn't see much damage at first but she could tell from the look on Carson's face that the news was not good. As she watched, he enlarged the slit in the pant leg and pulled the fabric apart to reveal ugly bruising and swelling to the back of John's lower leg. The skin looked unbroken though… so where was the blood coming from?

His touch firm yet gentle, Carson carefully slipped his hands under John's lower leg, lifting the limb a tiny amount – as much as he was able with John's foot and ankle still trapped – and rotating it slightly. Teyla swallowed thickly as she caught a brief glimpse of the damage to John's leg. The front of his calf was a mess; a ragged wound at the site of the break was red and ugly, still oozing blood, and sharp-edged bone was visible, protruding through the broken skin. John gave a weak groan as Carson moved his leg but his remained limp and still, his muscles relaxed in unconsciousness.

Teyla remembered from her first aid training that compound fractures were bad news, leaving the body at risk for serious infection unless treated early. And hours had already passed since John's injury, hours in a hot and dusty environment where who knew what dirt and debris could have gotten into the wound. Carson was unwrapping a sterile dressing and, as she watched, he carefully slid the bandage under John's leg, doing his best to cover the wound and protect it from the contaminants of their hot and dirty environment.

"I need to wrap this properly before we move him," he told her shortly. "We need to free his leg from the rubble so that I can lift it enough to wrap the dressing in place.

They returned to their task with renewed vigour, clearing the remaining debris tangled across John's legs. Finally, eventually, Teyla pulled aside a tangle of wood and plaster chunks to reveal John's feet, his familiar half-laced black boots a welcome sight.

The process of dressing the break was not a pleasant one for anyone involved. John stirred restlessly as soon as Carson tried to lift his leg and jerked into a kind of agonised semi-consciousness as a fresh bandage was pressed carefully over the exposed bone and quickly wrapped in place. Teyla, crouched once more at John's head, did her best to comfort him, rubbing a hand gently on his shoulder as she spoke softly to him, uncaring of words or meaning, just letting him know that she was there, that he was not alone. He gasped and moaned helplessly, his eyes open but glassy and unseeing, as Carson worked quickly and efficiently, tying the dressing firmly into place. By the time Carson gently lowered his leg, John was choking on hiccupping sobs, his face screwed in pain and his right hand clenched into a fist around Teyla's fingers. She barely felt the pain of his rigid grip, concentrating wholly on John, on trying to connect to him and talk him through the pain.

She only looked up when a shout came from the widening hole in the wall; Rodney's voice, raised in triumph. "Carson! Stretcher coming through!"

A clattering noise announced the longed-for arrival of two of Carson's trained EMTs, the stretcher carried between them. Close behind them came an engineer carrying a contraption of canisters and tubes that Teyla vaguely recognised. She had seen such equipment used by the expedition members before; from what she understood of the process, gases from the two canisters fed through the tubes into a nozzle and were ignited into a very hot flame. It was a cutting tool, capable of slicing quickly and cleanly through many materials. She found herself watching the engineer begin to set up his equipment, her lips still mouthing reassuring words to a barely-cognisant John, her stomach twisting with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. This was it; they had come to the point that all their effort had been working towards. It was time to take John home.

Carson was directing the operation with a calm assurance, setting the EMTs to work clearing the rubble from the floor around John so that they could lay the stretcher down as close to him as possible whilst the engineer fiddled with the settings on his equipment and listened diligently as Carson explained how he wanted to go about this. Between them, Teyla and Carson had cleared all of the debris that had buried John until they had exposed the full length of his body, lying sprawled and limp on the uneven floor of the ruined building. His broken leg was dressed and immobilised as best they could for the moment, the stretcher was pushed up alongside him, the EMT's ready to lift and move him the short distance across as soon as they were able; the only obstacle remaining now was the stout shard of wood that had pierced through John's torso and pinned him firmly to the floor.

Teyla couldn't help but startle when the engineer fired up his cutting tool, the gases igniting with an audible "whump" that settled into a muted, sustained roar as the nozzle was adjusted, thinning the flame out into a slim, precise tongue of blue fire. Carson gave her a solemn smile as he crouched across from her to check John's vitals one last time.

"Okay, everybody. This is it. You all know your places." Space was limited in the crowded confines of the ruins and Carson took it upon himself to play a vital role; stepping carefully across John's body he took a firm grip upon the spear of wood and held it steady, his legs braced widely. With the EMTs waiting at John's side and Teyla crouched by his head, keeping up her litany of soothing words, keeping him grounded, there was no room for anyone else to be involved. At a nod from Carson, the engineer, his face half obscured by heavy safety glasses, stepped up, cutting tool in hand.

Teyla held her breath as the flame neared the solid spear of wood; John's cries of pain as Carson had moved his broken leg had been hard enough to stomach… she dreaded to think of the pain cutting him free might cause. His hand still wrapped around hers, she brushed the sweat-dampened hair gently back from his forehead and whispered, "Hold tight, John."

It was over surprisingly quickly. The man wielding the torch was skilled at his work and the intense flame cut rapidly through the solid wood and, importantly for John, with minimal vibration or jarring. He tensed, his hand squeezing around Teyla's, and groaned quietly as the flame ate through the shaft but he remained for the most part unresponsive, not asleep but not really fully conscious either. The smell of burnt wood was acrid in the cramped space beneath the rubble as the engineer methodically sliced through the beam.

"Nearly there…"

Teyla was aware of Carson bracing himself at the engineer's warning, gripping the shaft of wood firmly, and then, abruptly, the beam broke neatly in two, the heavy upper piece coming away in Carson's hands so suddenly that he almost stumbled. He lifted the severed length carefully up and away, leaving a short stub of wood, perhaps one foot in total, still protruding from John's back. By the time the engineer had snuffed out the flame of his cutting tool and pulled down his safety goggles, Carson was already kneeling once more beside John, directing the EMTs as, together, they began to carefully pack sterile dressings around the base of the shaft, where it had punched through John's torso. This John did react to, pain creasing his face as he shuddered and gave a small cry.

Teyla talked him through it, her words low and soothing, one hand smoothing over his hair as he grimaced and panted through the pain. She had thought he was still mostly unaware, not really hearing her words, but with a sudden harsh intake of breath his eyes fluttered open and seemed to actually focus on her.

"John?"

His face twisted in pain but his eyes stayed locked on hers.

"Stay with me, John. We're getting you out of here." He seemed to nod slightly and his hand squeezed hers.

"Okay, that'll do." Teyla looked up to see Carson sitting back on his heels. Sterile dressings had been packed around John's injury and wrapped tightly, holding the shard of wood firmly in place. John was still semi-conscious, his eyes still open, and his rapid breathing began to ease a little now that the packing of the wound was done. It seemed something of an anti-climax; the work had gone quickly and smoothly and they were only a step away from getting John free. Then Carson knelt beside John and pressed the side of his face to the ground in an effort to see under John's body and Teyla realised that this had been the easy part; the worst was yet to come.

The shard of wood had pierced right through John's body, entering through the lower right side of his back and exiting somewhere underneath him to lodge into the floor beneath. They had no way of knowing how far it had penetrated into the floor nor how firmly it was lodged. And there was no space for them to simply cut through the beam with the cutting tool.

Carson gave a frustrated sigh and his voice was muffled as he pressed his face to the ground. "I can't see a bloody thing under here," he told them. He sat back up abruptly and the look on his face was grim. "I'd hoped to avoid this but I can't see any way around it. We're going to have to lift him just a wee bit so I can see what we're dealing with."

It took four of them to do it. They tried to be as quick and as careful as they could but there was no way that this was going to be easy for John. As much as it pained her, Teyla had to let go of John's hand, to leave him alone in this; she was needed elsewhere. She tried to explain to him what they were about to do, the necessity for it, and she could only hope he heard her and understood. His eyes were still open and he seemed aware of her presence beside him but there was no real sign of comprehension, no reaction to her words. She left him with a fervent wish, "Be strong, John."

He whimpered as they slipped they hands under his torso, the two EMTs, the engineer and Teyla, position two on either side of him. They held still, for a moment, awaiting Carson's signal, and when he pressed his head once more to the ground and commanded, "Okay, now," they lifted smoothly and firmly, only a little, merely pushing against the dead weight of John's body, just enough to raise him a fraction from the ground.

John's scream was terrible.

Teyla's heart was pounding as Carson snapped, "Okay! Down! Put him down!" and they quickly let his body rest back on the ground. John's agonised scream choked off into hiccupping gasps for breath that made Teyla's chest tighten painfully as Carson hurried over to crouch at John's head, pressing a hand to John's neck even as he spoke soothingly, "I know, son. I know. It's okay now."

The last time Teyla had heard a scream like that was more than two years ago in the back of a damaged jumper. She'd been helpless then too, unable to do anything to alleviate John's awful pain, forced to watch as he grew weaker by the moment. At least then he'd been awake and aware, still a commanding presence, still able to make his own choices about the best course of action and ultimately, to take the difficult decision that would save his own life. This time, his life was entirely in their hands. And this time, it was not an iratus bug causing him to cry out in agony, it was the actions of his friends. Though it was done to help him, to save him, by her own hand she had caused him this pain. Her stomach churned as her radio clicked and both Rodney and Ronon came on the channel, talking over each other in their concern.

"What's happening?" Ronon demanded roughly.

Rodney's voice was high-pitched, panicked. "What the hell was that? What are you doing to him?!"

She forced herself to project a calm she didn't feel. "It could not be helped," she told them firmly. "We had to move him enough for Carson to see underneath."

"For god's sake, can't you give him something?" Rodney begged angrily. Carson was still busy with John and she took it upon herself to respond.

"Rodney." She spoke as a friend, her voice gentle, "You know we can't. He's weak, it's too dangerous…"

She bit her lip as Rodney cursed viciously. She knew his anger was not directed at Carson or even at herself and after a moment it burned itself out, his voice weary as he snapped shortly, "This sucks."

"I know, Rodney."

He cut the connection abruptly and she closed her eyes for a long moment. "Not long now, Colonel," she heard Carson tell John gently. "We're going to get you out of here. Just hold on a wee while longer." She opened her eyes to find him rising from his crouch with a last reassuring pat to John's shoulder.

Teyla met Carson's eyes across John's body and in them she saw a mixture of grim determination and quiet regret. She understood his meaning without the need for words; there was worse to come. She took a deep breath as Carson picked his way carefully back to kneel beside John's torso, seeking to centre herself as her father had taught her, to let go of the fear and the worry and to focus only on remaining calm, on the necessity of what they were to do.

"Okay," Carson said quietly, his voice weary yet firm. "It's not good but it's not terrible either. The spike has penetrated right through into the floor as we suspected. I can't tell how deep it is but I don't think it's going to come out easily…" He gave a short sigh. "Which means we're going to have to cut through it."

Teyla could read the dismay on every face and knew that her own must mirror that regret. The pain John had felt when they had lifted him for mere seconds…

"However, there is one thing that works in our favour. The beam narrows considerably where it exits the Colonel's body. It's only an inch or so thick where it enters the floor and as such we have a lot less to cut through. So, Lt. Grieg, I need suggestions please. What is the sharpest blade we have that can be used in close quarters to cut through an inch of solid wood?"

As Carson discussed their options with the engineer, Teyla rose awkwardly in the cramped confines of the ruined house and, bending low as she walked, moved back to kneel at John's head. They were so close now; just this one more obstacle and they would be able to get John out of here, take him back to Atlantis where Carson and his team would fix him, make him as good as new. She believed that. She had to believe that. The small space under the rubble was growing darker, the light from the improvised doorway fading, growing weaker, and John's skin was waxy and pale in the gloom. His eyes were closed and he seemed frighteningly still, so much so that a fist of cold fear tightened in her chest and she hurried to press her hand to his neck, relieved to find a rhythm, faint though it was, pulsing under her fingers.

Surprisingly, his eyes opened at her touch.

"Teyla?" His voice was so faint that she could barely hear him, her name a mere whisper on her lips, yet she found herself smiling widely, relief washing through her in a wave so encompassing that it left her shaking. Just to know that he was conscious, that he was aware enough to recognise her and speak to her - it had been so long since she had heard his voice in anything other than cries of pain.

"I am here, John."

His face twisted into a grimace. "Not having… the best… day…"

She felt a laugh bubble up from inside her. "You have had better…" she agreed ruefully. Her voice sounded tight and thin, caught between fear and frustration and relief at hearing him sound so… so normal.

He frowned sluggishly, his eyes seeking hers, and asked weakly, "You okay?"

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded quickly, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. "I am fine," she assured him. His frown eased a little and his eyes began to drift closed. "Stay with us, John," she pressed, a hand on his shoulder.

"Teyla?" She looked around to find the others taking up position around John. "We're ready, love," Carson said.

John's eyes were closed again, his face drawn and haggard. She leaned over him to whisper in his ear. "It's nearly over," she told him fiercely. "You are strong; you can do this."

His lips moved almost silently, his voice nothing but an whispered exhalation of air, but she caught the mumbled, "Mmkay.." and allowed herself a painful smile as she rose stiffly and moved back to take her place alongside Carson.

She felt John tense as she slid her hands once more under his body, heard his muffled grunt of pain. Carson knelt beside her, a long, serrated blade in his hands. Everyone was tensed, ready, and she wondered if they shared her conflicted feelings of reluctance and impatience.

Carson clicked his radio. "Rodney, I want the jumper ready right outside the door with the pilot standing by."

"Done."

"We need to do this quickly and smoothly, people; as soon as the beam is cut, he's on the stretcher and into the jumper, okay? Everybody ready?" Carson looked at each of them in turn as they nodded their readiness. Teyla held his gaze for a long moment, and found strength and resolve in his eyes. Then he was moving, laying himself down awkwardly in the confined space, his shoulder to the ground, head on one side, blade held ready.

There was a brief moment in which Teyla could have sworn she felt them all inhale at once.

"Now!"

They lifted as one and John cried out as his body shifted upwards a fraction. His voice was hoarse and raw and Teyla's throat ached as her arms trembled. She grit her teeth against the fatigue in her muscles, against the awful pain in John's cry, fighting to hold him steady as Carson slipped his blade into the narrow space and began to saw. She _felt_ John's body move as the blade bit into the wood, jerking it back and forth with every push and pull of the saw.

John _screamed_.

The minutes that followed felt like the longest of her life. She couldn't look at John, at the EMTs or the engineer who bore John's weight along with her. She could only close her eyes and listen to the agony of John's screams, feel the welcome burn in her muscles as she held him aloft; she welcomed the pain. She deserved it.

"Come on, dammit." Carson was cursing to himself as he worked, grunting with exertion as he worked his arm back and forth at an awkward angle, cutting John free in painful increments. John's voice cracked and failed before the beam was cut through, leaving him screaming almost soundlessly, a thin whine of sound all that escaped as he gasped for air.

"Come on, come on, come on… yes! Ok, go! Move, move, move!!"

Carson was shouting, and suddenly everything was chaos and motion. They swung John quickly onto the stretcher, where he lay gasping and sobbing, and before she could even scramble to her feet, the EMTs were lifting him between them and bending low to carry John out through the gap in the wall and into the waiting jumper. Carson ran after them without a backward glance, leaving Teyla and Lt Grieg suddenly alone in the ruined building, a short, bloody stump of wood protruding from the floor between them.

Raising herself on shaky legs, Teyla stepped past the Lt as he began to pack up his tools and walked numbly from the remains of the building, feeling oddly disconnected. After hours spent in the gloom of the ruined house, the fading sunlight was glaringly bright and she shaded her eyes and squinted as the jumper lifted from the ground with an audible hum and sped away from her.

"Teyla."

She jumped a little as a hand fell on her shoulder and turned to find Ronon beside her, his normally taciturn face showing the true depth of the bond he shared with his team.

"Come on. Somebody else can finish up here." Rodney was a step behind Ronon, his voice brusque as he brushed past them both, heading purposefully for a second jumper.

Ronon clapped her wordlessly on the back and, feeling more tired and drained than she had ever imagined, she forced her aching muscles into motion, the two of them following in Rodney's wake. They had barely cleared the ramp when it began to close and Rodney set the craft into motion before the rear hatch had even finished closing. As Teyla slumped wearily into the nearest seat, the jumper shot forwards, heading for the stargate… for Atlantis.

* * *

_TBC..._


End file.
